


All for the Love of you

by Liz2010



Series: All For the Love of You [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Angst, Eating Disorders, Full Shift Werewolves, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Recovery, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2020-05-15 00:42:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 83,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz2010/pseuds/Liz2010
Summary: For months, Chris would replay the following moments in his mind every night as he laid in bed and tried to fall asleep next to the warm body beside him, hands clutching for the one that was missing. He would try to figure out how he could be so careless.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I own nothing and this fic is not beta read. All errors are mine.
> 
> This fic has a lot of violence, abuse, and is generally awful for poor Stiles. I will try to do warning before each chapter if something is graphic, but be aware starting in that it is dark and had the potential for triggers. Be aware and happy reading!

Chris couldn’t believe he was reduced to this. He was a hunter and arms dealer for fuck’s sake, not a security guard. 

But he hadn’t really hunted since he had felt his wrist burn with the unexpected appearance of his soul mark. Once it happened, a few days after he turned twenty-two, he had to change a lot of things to accommodate his partner and his wolfen nature. Other hunters didn’t trust him anymore and he wasn’t stupid enough to go on his own. 

And arms dealing had gotten more and more complicated as the state of California piled law after law on guns in recent years. He still did it, but it was more complicated than ever, and it was making him less money. A lot less. 

So, now he moonlighted in private security. Which meant he babysat rich clients who treated him more like a maid than the person keeping them alive or watched the houses of people too paranoid to trust the police. 

Peter, his partner and soulmate, didn’t like it. He hated it in fact. Said he made enough money for both of them and that it was too dangerous. Like hunting monsters in the dark of the woods wasn’t. 

Peter really did make plenty of money. He was a hot shot lawyer, one of the best. He was such a big deal that by the time he was thirty, he had his own practice in San Francisco. He was smart, he was ruthless, and he was wonderful.

But Chris didn’t want to stay at home and live off Peter’s money. He wasn’t meant to stay still. And life without a little danger was like hunting bunnies in a field. No fun and not worth even doing. 

Chris sighed as he made another loop around the rock quarry he was patrolling, jogging a little to try to warm up as the cold air blew through his coat. He was thankful for his backpack that at least kept part of him warm. California was temperate his ass. It sucked in February. It had been below freezing for three days and raining the whole time and tonight wasn’t any better. He could see the rain misting over the glass of his flashlight and stopped to wipe it off before continuing his job around the property. 

This wasn’t a bad job. Paid was decent, and there were no annoying clients. At least he could move and not sit in a car and watch a building the whole day. It was just nut-freezing cold and boring as fuck. 

He had been hired because people had been trespassing after dark and damaging the equipment some sort of protest. But the culprits had been caught nearly two weeks ago, on a rather exciting night for Chris if he did say so himself, and since then, it had been dead. He was on contract for the next week though, and he was going to finish it.

If Chis wasn’t a trained hunter, he never would have noticed the small noise coming from the edge of the quarry. It was towards the edge of the property, one of the abandoned pits that hadn’t been used in ages. 

The sound itself was nothing unusually. It was quiet, just a couple of rocks shifting and falling down the ravine into the pooling water below. It happened all the time. But, the sound had a pattern and something about it alerted his hunting instincts. He went to check it out. 

Chis flipped off his flashlight a long way off, deciding to go with stealth instead of intimidation. He creeped silently closer to the edge until he could just make out the shape of a person sitting there by the light of the offices nearly a half a mile away. 

The figure didn’t move as he got closer. It just sat, legs dangling over the edge, watching the rain. 

It had to be a druggie, or at least some homeless guy being stupid. Due to a zoning technicality, the quarry was officially in town, but it not in a nice neighborhood. Chris saw plenty of poor souls strung out when he drove through it to get to work, enough to recognize the hopeless slouch. 

Chis silently pulled his pistol out of its holster, double checking that the safely was on. He wanted to scare the guy, not kill him. 

He was directly behind him when he spoke. 

“Don’t move, or I’ll shoot.”

The figure moved immediately, though sluggishly, putting both hands up. 

“That would kind of save me a step” the figure, a man by the sound of it, joked, sounding horse and drained. 

Chis wasn’t in a joking mood. 

“Scoot back from the edge and turn around. Slowly.”

The figure complied, never once taking his hands down. As he turned and face Chris, Chris took one hand off his gun to bring up his flashlight, turning it on so he could see the man. 

Chris winced as he looked at the man because it wasn’t a man. Not really. It was kid, sixteen or seventeen by the look of it. He looked bad, gaunt and pale, with a dark bruise framing his left eye. 

They stood for a moment, watching each other, before the figure moved. He unzipped his dirty hoodie and dropped it to the ground. He then lifted his shirt showing off visible ribs and more bruises.

“There.” He said as he turned. “I’m unarmed. Now can I please sit down? I’m tired.”

He did look tired. The poor kid was swaying where he stood. Chris nodded his approval and the kid plopped back down on the edge of the quarry, facing the pit once again.  
Chris didn’t quite know what to do. This didn’t seem like a security guard issue. This seemed like a Child Protective Services issue. 

“What’s your name?” he asked, dropping his gun down but not putting it away. He flipped his light off and moved to the side of the kid so he could at least see his face by the low light as they talked.

The kid hesitated a little too long before answering. Chris didn’t have to be a werewolf to hear it was a lie.

“Sam”

“Well Sam, what are you doing here?”

The kid stared out ahead blankly. Chris shifted from foot to foot, trying to stay warm never taking his eyes off him. He wondered how the kid wasn’t freezing in the thin t-shirt he wore that was getting soaked. 

“I come out here on new moons.” Chris instinctively glanced at the sky, but any moon that might have been was covered in clouds. “When I can.”

“Where’s your home? Nearby?”

Sam shrugged.

“Not the city then. Where?”

Sam didn’t answer. He seemed to be having a hard time focusing on the conversation. He picked up a small rock and rolled it around in his hand before tossing it over the edge. It took a minute before the soft sound of a splash could be heard. 

“You look like your country.” The kid finally answered. “I bet you spend all your free time out in the woods hunting poor little rabbits.”

“I’ve been known to. But I’ve never killed just for fun.” At least that part was true. He followed the Code, always had and always would. “How about you? Did you grow up in the woods?”

Sam didn’t answer. He just sat; head cocked to the side, looking out across the pit with dull eyes. 

Chris tried again.

“How old are you? Sam, how old are you?” The kid looked young, but that could be because he was thin, way too thin and pale.

He was probably on drugs. That would his gaunt expression and difficulty concentrating. Chris wanted to think it was drugs, it would make everything so much easier. But, something about the kid made him afraid there was more to it than that. 

“What month is it?”

God, the kid was really messed up if he didn’t even know what month it was. 

“February.”

The silence dragged on between them as it continued to rain. Chris was getting wetter and uncomfortable though he would never show it. The kid didn’t seem bothered by it either. He didn’t put his hoodie back on and although he was shivering, he didn’t do anything to try to warm himself up. 

“Sam, I think we need to call someone.”

The kid smiled faintly. “You can’t call Child Services. They can’t help you. If it’s February, then I’m nineteen. I’m nineteen.” The kid’s face went strangely blank and he scooted a little closer to the edge. 

Chris tensed at the movement. He was starting to feel like this was less a trespassing and more a last rite situation. He didn’t like it. 

He took a careful step closer. If he was fast, he could grab the kid before he when over. Maybe.

“Maybe there is someone else I can call” he started, but Sam was already shaking his head. 

“The police in this city are good. They can help you get clean, get you whatever you need.”

Sam visible flinched at the mention of cops. 

“Or not the police, if you have problems with them. There are social workers for adults too.”

The kid started scratching nervously at his wrist. His hands were large and thin. The motion of it was distracting. 

“I don’t have problems with the police. I used to want to be a cop.”

Chris looked at him, really looked. Behind the emptiness, the kid looked familiar somehow, something about those huge soft brown eyes. It was bugging him.  


“Then what happened?”

“They came for me. They made me their omega.”

It was Chris’s turn to flinch. Whatever this kid was, it wasn’t a werewolf. He couldn’t be an omega. Besides, omegas had been hunted to extinction. There weren’t any now, his family had made sure of it. If any wolves ever went rouge, they were taken care of. 

“There’s no such thing as omegas. Not anymore.”

Sam looked him in the eye for the first time. A flash of something lit up his face and changed his expression from blank to calculating. “Interesting you said there is no such thing, not what are they.”

Shit. Kid was smart. Even strung out, he was clever.

“Sam, whatever is going on I can help.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The kid fidgeted, getting comfortable on the rocks. He wrapped an arm around his chest like it hurt and used the other one to brace himself up. 

Chris put his gun back in his holster. This kid couldn’t hurt him, even if he wanted to. He was prey, plain and simple. 

Chris fumbled in his pocket before bringing out a power bar he had packed for a midnight snack. 

“Here” he said before thinking twice about tossing it to the kid. Instead he sat down on the ground beside him, not so close as to make him jumpy but close. 

“Thanks.” Sam flashed him a brilliant, honest smile. Chris couldn’t help but grin back as the kid tore into it.

“Go slow. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“I know.” 

And that bugged him, the fact that Sam was so used to being hungry that he knew eating too fast was dangerous. He watched the kid eat out of the corner of his eye, trying not to stare. He had the potential to be beautiful. He had a certain energy about him. Even while he was scarfing down a power bar in the rain dead tired and clearly at the end of his rope, he was entrancing. 

Then it hit him. Soft Bambi eyes peering around a corner while the Sheriff did business, an apology for the kid being there. Something about his mother passing. 

The same kid, older, tagging along on police calls a child should never be on, the same excuse given as before, the whole thing making Talia grit her teeth in worry and anger, because no child should be doing their homework in the back of a police car while his father arrested drunks. 

The kid as a teen, his face plastered on posters as the townspeople searched the woods. 

“Shit. You’re Sheriff’s Stilinski’s kid. From out in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles grinned, all teeth and no warmth. 

“Yep.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Chris ran a cold hand over his forehead. “You’ve been missing for years. He insisted you were kidnapped but the case was ruled a runaway. Sam, we have to call your dad.”

He had seen the Sheriff right after. He was been part of the volunteers that had combed the woods looking for the teen even though there was no proof he was out there. The Sheriff had been a mess, frantic with worry.

And time hadn’t been kind to the lawman. He still did his job, but every time Chris had business at the jail, he seemed a little emptier. People said he wouldn’t last long, that the next election would be end of him.

“Just four. And don’t call him. I’m not staying, and I won’t come here again. I don’t want you to get his hopes up.”

“Sam” That wasn’t right. That wasn’t the kid’s name. “That’s not your name. What’s your real name?”

“My real name in an unpronounceable mess. They used to call me Stiles.”

Used to. Chris was in over his head.

“Stiles, I can get you home. I promise, whatever you are wrapped up in, I can get you home.”

“Mr. Argent.” Of course, the kid knew his name. He had probably known all along. He had spent a decent amount of time at the station and he and Peter were well known in town, the whole Hale family was. “You really can’t.”

Somewhere behind them was the sound of falling rock. Both men whipped around preparing for a fight. Chris brought up his light and found the shattered boulder quickly and let himself relax.

Rocks fell here a lot. Happened all the time. It really wasn’t a safe place. They needed to leave. Get Stiles someplace warm and safe. Quickly. 

He glanced as Stiles to say as much but when he caught a look at the kids face, the words dried up. The kid was clearly terrified. His face was white, and the shivering had turned to full on shaking. He was biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. 

“Stiles?” Chris cautiously put out a hand but before he could touch, the kid was scooting back. He was right on the edge of the pit.

“No! Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me.”

“Okay.” Chris left his hand up but stopped moving forward. “It was just some rocks. Nothing to worry about, it happens all the time here.”

“They found me.” Stiles was looking around frantically, hearing nothing Chris had said. “Oh God. They found me.”

“Who found you?”

Stiles’ eyes fixed on the pit in front of them and Chris’s stomach dropped. 

“Stiles.” Chris’s voice was desperate. “Don’t.”

The kid looked at him square in the eyes. The brown eyes were flat and dead like the decision was already made. 

Time slowed down like it did right before a kill. He was too far away to make the grab. He had been trying to give the kid his space and now it would be the death of him.  


He had to try. Chris put the flashlight down, shoving in his pocket without taking the time to turn it off. He would need both hands if he was going to do this. The movement illuminated Stiles’ wrist where he had been scratching it raw. There was a mark on it, a mark that hadn’t been there before. 

A crushing feeling came over him and Chris’s breathe caught. The mark was familiar. It appeared to be a circle with an arrow running through it. If Chris could see it closer, he knew he would see three stars of gold in on the top the arrow. It was unusual for a soul mark to be so detailed or to have any color. Most were simple and black. 

Chris knew exactly what Stiles’ looked like though. Because he had one exactly like it that was currently burning on his wrist. Burning in anticipation of claiming one’s soul mate. Waiting on the first skin to skin contact that would seal the bond.

For months, Chris would replay the following moments in his mind every night as he laid in bed and tried to fall asleep next to the warm body beside him, hands clutching for the one that was missing. He would try to figure out how he could be so careless. 

He was so focused on the mark he didn’t see Stiles muscles tense in preparation. He didn’t see the determined set of his jaw or how he closed his eyes. 

He only saw the movement as the kid went to throw himself off the edge. 

Chris had excellent reflexes that he worked hard to hone. Comparable to Peter’s, as he frequently reminded the wolf. Even without seeing the signs, even feet away, he still should have been able to catch the kid’s arm. 

He didn’t. 

As Stiles moved, so did Chris. But he slipped in the wet rock. Despite all his years of training, he fucking slipped. His fingers grazed Stiles’ cold skin instead of gripping it. His own mark seared, and he heard a gasp. He saw fear in those Bambi eyes as Stiles went over the edge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder, I am not a doctor and all my medically knowledge is based off of the internet. Suspend your disbelief as much as possible darlings.

Chris desperately crawled to the edge, hoping that by some miracle the kid was caught on the rocks, just over the edge, safe and alive waiting on Chris to pull him up.

Chris never had gotten many miracles. Just Peter.

Instead, he watched his soulmate, his second soulmate, fall the nearly forty feet down. If he had just jumped straight, it would have been bad enough. Maybe the water would have been enough to break the fall. It was on old quarry after all, and it had been filling with water all winter.

But the kid had apparently lacked the strength to launch himself off properly. Instead, he was only a few feet from the wall as he fell, hitting the outlying rocks as his went. It slowed him down, but Chris knew it was snapping bone with every hit.

He watched in horror as the Stiles hit the water with a cracking noise that he would hear for the rest of his life. His body was visible on the surface and Chris jumped to action. 

“Come on, swim. Please swim.” Chris whispered as he pulled out his phone and pushed the first app on his screen before ripping off his backpack and searching frantically through it. 

He wasn’t dumb. He had prepared for an emergency situation, one that he couldn’t handle on his own. He had a pre-programmed GPS drop on his phone. He only had to push one button and the cops and EMT’s would be on their way. 

Normally in this neighborhood, the emergency response time was nine minutes. With his app, it was six. There were perks to his position. 

But Stiles only had three to four minutes, assuming he was underwater, his injuries making him unable to keep himself on the surface. That’s how long he could go without breathing. That’s how long before the brain damage was almost guaranteed to be permanent. And judging by the fact Chris could no longer see his body, he had to assume that was the case. He started the stopwatch on his utility watch. 

He ripped a road flare open and dropped it, its red light illuminating the quarry. That would hopefully show the emergency vehicles that were screaming towards them exactly where they were, if the GPS ping wasn’t enough. 

Every second counted. Chris grabbed the rope out his bag and tied it off to a nearby boulder. He pulled on the harness and started down the edge of the pit. He hadn’t repelled in a while, but he knew he could still do it. He might have a touch of white in his beard, but he wasn’t that old. 

Still he took it slow. It was slippery and he would be of no help to anyone if he got hurt now. He kept an ear out for sirens. He hoped the ambulance would waiting when he got them both back to the top. 

He got to the water and unclipped himself from the rope. It was cold as he drove down into the black, pulling his flashlight out but his little light wasn’t enough. It was too black and all it did was distort view under the water. He shoved in back in his pocket.

He couldn’t find the body. No. He couldn’t find Stiles. He came up gasping for air, before diving back down. 

It was on the third dive that he found him, caught on a rock only about five feet from the surface. He felt a bubble of hope as he gripped the teen’s arm. He pulled him up to the surface and swam back to his rope.

Getting Stiles’ limp form up the pit was difficult. Chris lashed them together and climbed with a desperation he had never felt before. He did his best to keep the kid’s head from bashing against the rocks, though he failed a few times. His muscles screamed and something in his chest tore. But he wasn’t going to slow down. It had been too long already.

He didn’t hear the sirens until he was at the top. He hopped they were already within the quarry because looking down by sick red light of the flare, Stiles needed help now. 

Chris looked him over with a professional eye, hands skimming over the teen’s cold skin. He had seen plenty of gruesome wounds as a hunter and knew when they were fatal. 

This one would be close.

Stiles had a gash on the side of his head that was bleeding heavy. His left arm had a compound fracture, the bone sticking through the skin. By the angle his right leg was at, it was probably broken too. Chris hoped his spine was alright. He had moved the kid around a lot, and if something was cracked in his back, there was no way he wouldn’t be paralyzed, at the very least.

There wasn’t counting any internal injury he likely had. Chris didn’t bother to life his shirt to look for bruising because as he laid he hands of the teen’s chest, he noticed a much bigger problem.

Stiles wasn’t breathing.

Chris wasn’t surprised but his stomach still stunk. He had been underwater too long. He started CPR as the flashing lights got closer. 

“Come on,” He begged between rescue breathes. “Please. I need you to breathe.”

Stiles stayed unresponsive as Chris abused his chest over and over, ribs snapping with the pressure.

Chris looked at his watch. Four minutes and forty-five seconds. That’s how long since he hit the water. That’s how long since Stiles had been breathing. 

It was too long but Chris wasn’t about to give up.

“I remember you.” He said. “I remember you hanging around, watching everything we were doing, learning. You were bright. You had that spark. You can’t give up now. Not when i just found you.”

The EMT’s arrived and pushed Chris aside. One took over chest compressions while the other shoved a tube down Stiles' throat as Chris crouched by his head, still begging. 

“Come on Stiles. Come on. Please.” He whispered in the kid’s ear. “Don’t make me call your dad and tell him you’re dead.”

His body was so still that for an awful second, Chris thought that was it. That he would have to make that call but then.

“I’ve got a pulse.” 

The EMP’s actions turned from frantic to practiced as they finished their work. Chris took his soulmate’s limp hand as the EMT’s continued to pump air into his lungs. They threw gauze on the bleeding wounds and stabilized his neck.

The EMT’s loaded him into the ambulance. Chris could tell from their expressions that they knew how bad this was. 

“You riding along?” One asked, holding the door.

Chris wanted to. He really wanted to. 

“I need to call his dad.” 

Sirens screamed as they drove away.

\----  
Chis left the rope and ran back to the offices where his car was parked, checking his phone as he ran.

He had three missed calls from Peter, and one from Talia as well.

He shot his alpha a text saying he was fine and would call her later, before dialing up his partner as he got into the car, cranking the heat and trying to warm up. He wished he had brought dry clothes but they were in his backpack, sitting by the pit. 

“Chis. Are you alright? The bond was going crazy. I was about to come out there.”

Even at this late hour, Peter sounded alert and worried. Peter was always worried about him. It was sweet, if annoying. 

Chris debated what to tell his husband. They had another soulmate. Another soulmate who was actively dying. That was a lot to take in; Chris was still struggling with the idea. It would be better to do it face to face. 

“I’m fine. I had a little action. A kid jumped into one of the quarries and I pulled him out. Turns out we know him. Sheriff Stilinski's kid, from Beacon Hills.”

Peter was quiet for a long moment. “Is he alive?”

“He was when the ambulance picked him up.” Chris didn’t mention how close it was. “ I’m going to call his dad then meet him at the hospital.”

“Can you leave the job like that?”

“Fuck the job. I’m not leaving him alone.”

“Alright.” Peter was suddenly curt, and Chris wondered if he could sense something had happened, if he could sense Stiles. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“I love you.”

“To the moon and back.”

Chris took a deep breath before dialing the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s department. He didn’t have the Sheriff’s direct phone number. This was going to suck.

The operator’s voice was dry. “Beacon Hill’s Sheriff’s Department, Debbie speaking. How may I direct your call?”

“I need to speak to the Sheriff.”

“I’m sorry he’s out of the office tonight. May I take a message?”

“It’s about his son.”

Chris could hear her gasp through the phone. “Oh my God.” There was a click and moment of silence. 

Before Chris could worry that he had been disconnected, a man’s voice echoed down the line. 

“This is Sheriff Stilinski. Who am I talking to?”

“This is Chis Argent.”

“Chris. Debbie said you had news about my son.”

“Yes sir. I…” He wasn’t sure how to say it. “I found your son tonight. In a rock quarry in San Francisco.”

John’s breath was heavy in the phone. His voice was thick when he spoke again. “Was he alright? Is he alive?”

“Yes sir, he’s alive.” Chris was quick to assure him. “He’s busted up pretty good though. They are taking him to St. Mary’s.”

“St. Mary’s. I can be there in two hours, less if I push.” The Sheriff said more to himself than Chris. There was the sound of a door like he was already on the way.

“I’m on my way as well.” 

“Thank you, Chris. Thank you for finding him.” The Sheriff hung up the phone without any more fanfare. 

His hands tightened around the wheel as he began to shake from the adrenaline drop. He knew the drill. He got one minute before he had to compartmentalize the events of the night before he had to get his ass on the road. 

One minute to think about how close he was losing someone he didn’t even know was important to him. One minute to think about how it might still be to late. One minute to think he might have given a father false hope.

Then, he took a breath and focused on what needed to be done next. He breathed in, then out, forcing his heart down. He started his SUV and tore out of the parking lot. Stiles was going to be fine. 

\----  
Getting to St. Mary’s was easy. The streets were nearly empty, and Chris flew, parking in the emergency room parking lot and running inside.

The ER was busy, as they tended to be.

“I’m looking for Stiles Stilinski.” He barked at the harried looking receptionist whose fingers clicked over the keyboard. She glanced up unconcerned by his gruff expression, then back down at her screen.

“There is no one here by that name. You'll have to wait.”

“Shit.” Chris a ran a hand over his face. “A John Doe then. He might not have had ID on him.”

“Sir, I’m sorry but I don’t know of an admittance under either name.” She went back to typing, looking absolutely unconcerned that Chris’ soulmate was somewhere in the hospital and he didn’t know where. “You need to have a seat."

Chris felt a certain calm wash over him, the way he did right before a kill. He dropped his voice low as he leaned in over the counter, until the woman looked up. He met the woman’s eyes, unblinking. 

“I’m looking for the kid I dragged half dead out of a pit earlier tonight. He’s my soulmate and I want to know where he is. You have five minutes to find him before I call my lawyer. And he is very good, the very best. However much you think you make, it won’t be enough to cover the what we will sue you for.”

The woman’s eyes widened at the mention of a soulmate. “I’ll check sir.” She fled her desk and Chris paced back and forth.

A young doctor appeared moments later.

“You’re here about the boy from the quarry? You’re his soulmate?”

Chris held out his mark as proof. “His name is Stiles. Is he still alive?”

The doctor nodded. “Let’s talk somewhere more private.”

She pulled him into the ER. Chris strained his head, looking for a glimpse of Stiles, but had no luck. The doctor took him to a small office to the side, far from the commotion of the ER.

“He’s still in triage. He has a lot of injuries and we are trying to sort out which is killing him the quickest. Right now, I need some information about him. Why was he in that quarry? Does he have a history of mental illness?”

Chris sat on the hard-plastic chair. “I don’t know. I don’t know much about him really. The soulmate thing is new for us. Brand new. His name is Stiles, he’s nineteen, and he was terrified that someone was after him.”

“That explains why his mark looked like it was about scratched off. It must have really burned.” The doctor’s own wrists were unbranded. She had no idea what it felt like, how it burned like fire, but how they came out on the other side whole, instead of burned. “I have several concerns about Stiles. He’s dehydrate, malnourished, and there are marks that suggest abuse. I would like to assume we can rule you out, if this is as new as you say.”

Chris kept his face blank at the mention of abuse. He suspected it at well, but to have it confirmed by the doctor was hard. “He was kidnapped over four years ago. There is a police report in Beacon Hills I can arrange to have faxed here if you need proof.

"That would be great." She continued on with more bad news. “He is weak. Very weak. It’s going to make keeping him stable difficult, even if we can manage to treat his injuries.”

Chris grit his teeth. He would make it. He had to make it. 

The doctor opened the door to leave. "Someone will let you know when we know more."

“His father is on his way here as well.”

She nodded. “I’ll let reception know to expect him.”

Chris resisted sticking his tongue out after her. She was doing her job, but it irritated him how she seemed more worried about his abuse than fixing him. She sounded like she was already giving up, just because he was weak. 

Stiles wasn’t weak. Chris might not know much, but he knew that.

He called the Sheriff’s department again, getting the same receptionist, who was ecstatic to hear that the hospital needed the report. She sent it while still on the phone, gushing about how glad she was that Stiles had been found. She didn’t seem to get how badly he was hurt. Chris didn’t correct her. It didn’t hurt for someone to have a little hope.

He called Talia next, half hoping the alpha wouldn’t pick up and he could leave a message.

“Chris,” she said sounding much sleepier than her brother had. “Peter said you were alright.”

“I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know that our lives are about to get a lot more complicated.”

“Oh?” 

“I should tell Peter the details first. But I think we will need your help. I think we are going to need a lot of help.”

“You know I am here for whatever you need.”

“Thanks Talia.”

Talia was a good alpha, one of the best Chris had ever met. She led with strength but knew how to show kindness. She knew when to push and when to let things go. Stiles would need that as he adjusted to having soulmates. 

Chris left a message for his boss, explaining what happened and that he wouldn’t be finishing his contract. He would lose a lot of money, but he didn’t care. 

He felt tense, edgy. He wondered if Peter could feel it through the bond.

That was a common fallacy about soulmates, that they could feel each other’s feelings. Soulmates were just like any other couple, just predestined to be together for some reason only fate knew. Sure, he and Peter seemed more, well more connected than most other couples, but Chris suspected some of that was due to Peter’s wolfen nature more than the soul bond.

He and Peter got echoes of feeling, but it was more because of the pack bond than anything else. That’s how packs worked. Talia could feel almost everyone all the time, their pain, joy, fear. Everyone else got glimpses, depending on how close the individuals were and how powerful the emotion. 

And he and Peter were close. Now. But it had been a hard journey. 

They had been soulmates since Peter was seventeen and Chris twenty-two. Chris had been hunting him over a murder that turned out to not even be a werewolf. They had fought hand to hand, and their skin had touched. At the time, their bonding had felt like the end of the world.

Because not everyone had a soulmate. Hell, not even most people. Only about twenty percent of the population did. Everyone else had to find their partner’s the old-fashioned way. It led to misconceptions and even jealousy for those who were bound. People thought they had an advantage, that they were more in tune with each other in an almost mythical way.

Because of this, when you found your soulmate, it trumped everything else. If you were already married, you were granted an immediate divorce. If you weren’t married, you couldn’t marry anyone except your soulmate. It was a blessing and a restriction all in one. 

It had taken them a long time to be okay with being bound only to each other. Peter had been young and ambitious, not to mention a werewolf, and Chris had been brought up to hate him. In the beginning, it had been nothing but screaming and detestation.

But it turned out when they weren’t fighting, they made a marvelous pair, bringing out the fiercest and most terrifying parts of each other. Peter was clever and a planner. He held grudges and was exceedingly protective in every way. Chris was a man of action. He got stuff done but he also knew how to let things go.

Talia said watching them together was the closest to perfection she had ever seen.

And now they had to find a way to add in a new partner. 

Chris spent the next hour sitting cross legged on the floor, trying to mediate and clear his mind. He had only just begun to relax when the door burst open and a man in a crumpled brown uniform burst in.

Sheriff Stilinski looked like he had aged fifty years since that night Chris had helped him hunt for his son. His hair was more gray than brown, and his face was filled with lines.

“Have they told you anything?” He asked Chris, not at all phased that the other man was sitting cross legged on the floor. "They won't tell me anything."

“Not yet.” Chris stood and held out his hand. “Chris Argent.”

Chris saw the moment the Sheriff figured out who he actually was. The father must have been too distracted to connect the name Argent with the arms dealer. He shook the hand enthusiastically.

“Chris. I’m Sheriff Stilinski. John. You can call me John. God, I need to see him. I need to see my son right now.” 

The man looked like he was about to fall apart. He turned in a circle, unsure of what to do. Chris led him to one of the uncomfortable chairs and handed him a coffee an orderly had brought a while ago. It was terrible and only lukewarm, but the poor man needed it. 

“They said he was alive two hours ago. He has to be still, or they would have come back in.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Chris summarized the night as best he could without being too brutal. He didn’t want to panic John about any of it. The man looked bad enough. He skimmed over how sick Stiles had looked. He left out the part about his son jumping of the edge. He made it sound like he just fell. 

He also didn’t mention the bond. John didn’t need to worry about that right now either.

John paled as Chris talked. He paused, worried the man would pass out, but continued at the Sheriff’s urging. Christ couldn’t imagine how it must feel to hear this about his son. Chris barely knew Stiles and it was hard enough. 

Chris had just finished telling how he had pulled them up the quarry when there was a soft knock and a middle-aged man poked his head in.

“Mr. Stilinskis? You’re the fathers?” 

John was in no shape to make introductions.

“I’m Christopher Argent. I found him.” Chris hoped the doctor wouldn’t bring up the soul marks now. “This is Stiles’ father, Sheriff Stilinski. What’s going on? Is he okay?”

“Mr. Argent, Sheriff, I apologize for the lack of communication. I didn’t realize that you weren’t getting updates from our OR docs. I’m Stiles primary doctor, Dr. Smithery, and I will be organizing his treatments from here on out.”

Chris nodded while John continued to sit motionless, seemingly unable to move. 

“Stiles is still hanging in there. Again, I’m sorry for making you worry unnecessarily. But we need to talk about the next steps.”

The doctor brought out a diagram of a basic human body, pointing to each section of the body as he explained the young man’s wounds. Chris found it hard to absorb it all as the doctor when on, listing each injury with a mark on the diagram.

A compound arm fracture that would need surgery. Broken leg, hip dislocation and a pelvic fracture. Therapy if he was ever going to walk again. Broken ribs, one of which punctured a lung, so now he had a chest tube. He wasn’t able to breathe on his own. He needed a ventilator. 

His spine seemed fine, but there was head injury that concerned them. His skull didn’t appear to be fractured but he had a depressed level of consciousness. They wouldn’t know if there was brain damage until he woke.

It was all too much. Chris wanted Peter. He didn’t know how to deal with this, with this horrific level of injury. His pack all healed so quickly, they never had to deal with this. He wanted a hand to clutch. He wanted his partner with him to help ease the blows the doctor’s words were dealing him.

He couldn’t image how along John must be feeling. At some point during the doctor’s speech, the Sheriff had moaned and put his head between his hands. Chris put a hand on the man’s shoulder as a sign that he wasn’t entirely alone. 

The doctor seemed to sense the change in the room. His tone became less matter of fact. He was almost kind as he spoke again.

“Up until now, we thought that was the end of it. Unfortunately, his blood pressure refused to go up which lead to an abdominal ultrasound. In it, we found large amounts of blood. I suspect his liver is badly damaged. Normally we transfuse and hope the bleeding stops, but he has already had three pints of blood and there’s been no improvement. He needs surgery to stop the bleeding. I need your consent.”

“Yes.” John raised his head up to look at the doctor. His eyes were red, but there was no sign of tears. “Whatever it takes to save him.”

The doctor glanced at Chris’s carefully blank face before answering.

“I can’t promise this will save him. He’s was in rough shape before the fall and now, with all his injuries. He’s going to have a hell of a fight in front of him.”

“He’s a fighter.” John’s face settled into a tight determination. “He won’t give up.”

Chris thought back on the look of utter hopelessness in his soulmate’s eyes as he jumped. He hoped John was right. He had to believe John was right. 

“Alright.” The doctor stood. “If you want to see him before we take in back, you have about 20 minutes.”


	3. Chapter 3

They walked to the room in silence. Stiles was pale, translucent on the bed and connected to too fucking many wires and tubes. Chris had done enough hospital vigils as a hunter to know exactly what this was.

This was fucking bad. 

John didn’t seem to notice. He went straight for the bed, eyes welling up with tears. He ran a hand over his son’s forehead, pushing back the long hair there. 

“Hey son.” He looked at the broken body hesitatingly, unsure of where to put his hands. Both of his son’s hands had IV’s and nearly every other part of his body was covered in gauze. He settled for running a thumb over his son’s cheek. 

“You’re going to be alright. I promise. I just need you to keep fighting just a little bit longer.” John pressed their foreheads together, being ever so careful of the breathing tube. “I love you so much son.”

The orderly came in and began disconnecting lines in preparation for the move to the OR. John didn’t give them any mind. He stayed head to head with Stiles, as though he could will his son to live by contact alone. 

The moment was far too private, and Chris knew he should leave. But it might be the last time he ever saw his soulmate alive as well. Against his better judgment, he walked up the bed as well on the opposite side of the Sheriff. 

He let his fingertips just ghost the top of his hand, avoiding the IV. 

“Please.” He whispered, putting all his wants and fears into that one word. “Please.”

“We have to take him now.” The orderly was kind, but firm.

Chris stepped away immediately, but John took a moment.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up. I’m never leaving you again.”

They wheeled the bed out of the room, both men watching him go, both hoping this wouldn’t be the last time they saw him.

\-----  
It was a long night. Chris let Peter know he wouldn’t be home for a breakfast and that Peter should go to work. Peter seemed confused but didn’t argue. Chris offered to contact someone for John, but the Sheriff just shrugged.

“There isn’t anyone else really. Everything kinda fell apart when Stiles went missing. I couldn’t worry about anyone else when my son was missing. I was lucky to keep by job, much less any relationships.”

It was sad and wonderful, how devoted John was to his son. Chris found himself wishing his own father had just an ounce of that same compassion. His own father had tried to kill him when he found out about Peter. He wondered if John would try to as well, when he saw the soul marks. When he found out what Peter was. What he was. 

Chris lost count of how many cups of coffee they had. He paced, he sat blankly watching the walls, he even got some paperwork done on his laptop, but there was no news.  


Finally, just as the sun began to rise, Dr. Smithery came down the hall. 

The doctor didn’t waste any time. “He made it. We were able to control the bleed by removing a small part of his liver. As long as we can keep infection at bay, he should recover. He’s still very weak and it will be a long road, but I’m cautiously optimistic.”

John collapsed on to the floor, legs unable to hold him anymore. Sobs burst out of him, loud and uncontrolled. Chris wished there were someone else here. Maybe he should have called Talia or Laura, they were good at this sort of thing. 

“He’ll be in recovery a while yet. I’ll have one of the nurses bring in a cot to his room. Rest while you can because it’s going to be a long road for you too.”

The doctor walked away. John pulled himself to his feet and wrapped Chris in a powerful hug. 

“Thank you, Chris. Thank you for my son.”

\----  
Chris didn’t stay at the hospital. John needed time with his son and he needed sleep. He had a lot of news to give a lot of people and he didn’t want to do it half awake. 

He didn’t drive home. Peter and he had an amazing house, built just for the two of them, on the very edge of Beacon County, about an hour from the heart of the city. It was about half an hour from Beacon Hills and 10 minutes from the rest of the pack, which was, according to Peter, just the right distance for relatives.

Peter kept the shitty little loft apartment in the city for nights he was too tired to get home, or for days when he had to be in court so early it didn’t make sense to drive home. His practice was downtown, and the apartment got plenty of use. They also used it occasionally for date nights that ended in such passion neither man could drive. It had been a good investment, though they loved their house in the woods. 

He stumbled into the apartment, stripping as he walked to the bed that smelled slightly of Peter and the pine and earth smell that he never could wash off, and when right to sleep. 

When he woke, he had a voicemail for the quarry company, offering him a bonus if he would come in tonight, one from Talia, just checking in, and one from Peter, reminding him he was staying in the city tonight. 

He groaned. It was mid afternoon. If he hurried, he could probably catch Peter between court and getting buried in the paperwork for the next day. He wouldn’t be in a good mood, too busy, but Chris would just have to deal. 

He called the hospital before he even got out of bed, bullying the nurse into talking to him by using his soulmate position. There was no change in Stiles’ status. He was still critical, but stable. He wanted to go straight back to him, but there were other things that needed to be attended to. 

He showered and shaved, straitening the mess he made of the apartment as he went. Peter hated it when he left a mess. For an actual wolf, he liked things surprisingly neat. 

He let the company know he wouldn’t be returning, no matter what they offered, calling as he drove. He texted Talia, assuring her everything was alright. He texted Peter as well, saying he was coming by. It wouldn’t do to surprise him. Peter didn’t like surprises. 

By the time Chris stepped of the elevator to the top floor where Hale Law Offices were located, he was sweating from nerves, though he was careful to keep a placid expression when he greeted the receptionist and waited for his husband to be free. 

It was a bit of a wait but when Peter let him into his office, he had a gloating smile on his face. The wolf shut the door behind them, before pulling Chris into a kiss, all tongue and heat.

“Why dear?” Peter said, breaking away and pressing their forehead together. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Chris smiled despite the nerves that fluttered in his stomach. “Someone’s happy.”

“The defendant fucked up on his argument. I destroyed him. The jury deliberated for less than hour before ruling in my favor.” Peter ducked his head to suck a mark on Chris’s collarbone. “I’m free tomorrow now.”

Chris shivered, but didn’t get hard, even as Peter palmed him through his jeans. There was too much on his mind. Peter frowned, sniffing his neck before pulling away.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded, eyes flashing electric blue for just a second. “Why are you afraid?”

Chris let him to the chairs in front of the desk, never letting go of his partner’s hand.

“Is it the boy? The Sheriff’s son? Did he die? It’s not your fault Chris, I’m sure you did all you could. No one is going to blame you.”

It hurt to hear Peter talk so callously about their soulmate, even if he didn’t know.

“No, he’s still alive. His name is Stiles. He’s hurt, badly, but he should recover. The doctors seem optimistic.”

“Alright.” Peter gave him a long, calculating look. “Why are you telling me this?”

None of the explanations Chris had thought of were enough. He cleared his throat to buy time. Peter squeezed his hand, hard, his naturally short patience wearing thin as his husband procrastinated. 

Fuck it. “He’s our soulmate.”

Shock crossed his husband’s face, followed by disbelief. Chris held out his newly brightened mark as proof, once again as clear as the day it formed. Peter ran a finger over it, then glanced at his own faded mark. He hadn’t touched Stiles, hadn’t bounded properly yet. 

"We have a third."

“Who else knows?”

“The hospital. No one else.”

“I need to go. I’ll call you later.” Peter stood, his face blank, practically racing out the door, only barely managing not to use his enhanced speed as he left. 

Chris signed running a hand over his face. He had figured his husband would react like this. Peter first instinct was still away to run from things he didn’t like. He had run when their mark burned for the first time as well. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. 

\----  
He drove back to the hospital as the sun set. It felt like it had been a hundred years since last night. He felt weighted down and unsettled, hating that Peter wasn’t driving back with him.

He found the ICU room without any trouble. John was asleep in a chair, hand resting on Stiles’ unbroken leg. Chris moved silently, as not to disturb him.

Stiles was asleep as well, still hooked to the ventilator and so many other tubes, looking fragile and young. His color seemed a bit better though. Chris hoped he wasn’t fooling himself in thinking so.

A tear escaped his stubborn eye, and he let it fall. There was no one awake to see. His husband had run from him and his other mate was hurt so fucking badly. It wasn’t fair. They had all suffered so much already, he and Peter just to be together, and Stiles at the hands of whoever had held him captive. They didn’t deserve this. 

He walked to the other side of the bed and stood stroking the boy’s dirty hair, too afraid of causing pain to touch anywhere else. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly. “I should have been faster. I should have grabbed you. I could have saved us all so much pain.”

“It’s not your fault.” John sounded wrecked. He didn’t move from his chair or raise his now open eyes from his son’s still face. 

Chris flinched. It hadn’t been a clear confession that Stiles’ fall had been intentional, but it was close. 

“If my son wanted to go off that ledge, he was going to find a way. No matter what you did. Right now, we have to convince him that he needs to stay alive. That he is safe, that whatever happened to him is over. Focus on that.”

So, he did know, or at least suspect, how Stiles had really ended up at the bottom of that quarry. Well, he was a cop after all. 

“I’ll get us some coffee.” It was going to be another long night. 

\----  
The next few days passed in a coffee fueled blur. Chris and John held vigil over the still body. Some tubes were removed, some were added. The boy never woke. 

Chris mostly sat in silence, comfortable enough to listen to the heart monitor remind him that there was still hope. That his soulmate was alive and everything else could be dealt with as it came.

Peter called once, to say he had to do some travel for work and wouldn’t be home for a few days. He had to go overseas.

Bullshit. He was still running, too afraid to face the idea of loving someone new. As much as it pissed Chris off, he understood it. He was afraid too. Afraid of how he was going to fit Stiles into his life. Into their lives. He told Peter to have a safe flight. He didn’t get a response back.

Chris didn’t go home. When he wasn’t at the hospital, he stayed at the apartment to grab a few hours of sleep before heading back to the hospital. 

It was a good facility. The nurses learned who they were quickly and were kind enough to bring them food and coffee periodically. The staff seemed skilled and were hopeful about Stiles’ recovery. 

John struggled. He couldn’t seem to sit still. He would fidget in his chair. He rearranged the flowers various well-wishers had sent, reading the cards over and over. He would pace the room only to end up back at his son’s side after just a few steps. 

And he couldn’t be quiet. He told Stiles story after story of the things he remember of the boy’s childhood until his voice gave out.

Christ didn’t mind. He liked hearing about his soulmate’s life. He was right, the kid was a spitfire, always in trouble, always curious and getting into things that weren’t his business, but always coming out on top. The only thing John didn’t talk about was exactly how Stiles went missing. Chris found he didn’t want to know. Not yet. 

Stiles improved, bit by bit. They removed the respirator and a few other wires. He woke a few times, but never did more than roll his eyes around the room then pass back out. He never spoke.

John latched onto each tiny awakening as a sign his son would be fine. Chris was less sure. Each time he woke and didn’t talk, he was more and more worried that there was brain damage. He had been without air for a long time.

It was fitting, then, that Chris would be the only one in the room when Stiles woke up properly. His brown eyes opened slowly, as he glanced around the room, barely noticing Chris, who leaned closer to the bed, not quite touching. Chris expected those eyes to shut immediately but instead, Stiles gave a weak cough, then pushed off his oxygen mask.

“Why?” he croaked. 

Chris didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I had to.” “I couldn’t let you die” was left unspoken. 

“Where?”

“You’re in the hospital, St Mary’s in San Francisco. It’s been eight days since I found you. You’re pretty banged up.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, just sat thinking. Chris was ecstatic. Not only was Stiles awake, but he was talking and clearly absorbing information. It was as close to a miracle as Chris could hope for.

“I need to go.” Stiles finally said, then tried to push himself out of bed. He fell right back down, before Chris could push him back, but it messed with his wires and tubes and alarms started going off. 

John, who had been out getting a drink, came running in before the nurses could, looking terrified, until he saw his son looking back at him. Then he looked happier than Chris knew a person could look. 

“Son. Oh my God, Stiles.” John rushed to the bed, wrapping his arms around his kid in a careful, lose hug. 

Stiles didn’t look comforted. He looked panicked. The heart rate monitor showed it as well; the beeping got faster and faster as Stiles tried to shrink away from his dad into the pillows. 

John only pulled away when the nurse came in and pushed him physically out of the way, looking pleased to see her patient up. She reconnected a few monitors and left, murmuring about getting a doctor.

Chris hovered near the bed, unwilling to move, but trying to stay out of the way. John looked so happy he might bust. He kept running his hand over Stiles head, like he was trying to convince himself his kid was really there. 

Stiles seemed to be having a similar problem, his eyes fixed on his dad’s face like it was the last time he would ever see it, heart rate still elevated, and expression panicked. 

“It’s going to be alright.” John finally stopped the petting and grabbed Stiles hand. “You’re a little beat up right now, but you’re going to be fine. I love you so much. I’m so glad to have you back.”

His words seemed to trigger something in Stiles. His eyes went hard, and he wrenched his hand out of his dad’s grasp. 

“You have to go.” Stiles demanded, voice hard, though still weak. “Right now, Dad. You have to go.”

John looked confused. “Son, I’m never leaving you again. I’m here.”

Stiles looked even more agitate as his breathing increased. His heart rate skyrocketed and Chris began to get worried. 

“Stiles, its OK.” Chris said, rushing forward and trying to put the oxygen back on him.

“No, no, no.” He was shaking his head back and forth frantically, voice getting higher and louder with each word. “No!”

He was screaming now, and John looked nearly as panicked as his son as he tried to calm him. “No, dad. No! You can’t be here. They’ll hurt you. They’ll kill you. Dad, you have to go. Dad. Daddy!”

Dr. Smithery ran in, followed by two nurses. He took one look at Stiles terrified expression and John’s horrified one and jabbed his patient with a sedative.

“This happens sometimes. It can be disorienting to wake up like this, especially with his trauma.” The doctor looked almost happy as he talked over Stiles’ fading screams. “The good news is he woke up and recognized you. At this point, it’s fairly safe to say any brain damage is minimal, though we will need to do more testing.”

Stiles finally stopped screaming as the drugs pulled at him, but was trying to grab at his dad, his motions clumsy and heavy. John caught his wrist, trying to stop him from doing any actual damage. 

“Daddy. Run.” He slurred out, before going limp, eyes falling closed. The nurses began to take vitals, but John didn’t let go of his wrist, staring at it hard.

“John.” Chris said, walking around the bed and trying to snap the Sheriff out of whatever shock he had fallen into. “John. He woke up. It’s a good thing.”

John tore is gaze away from his son. He looked up at Chris, jaw clenched and expression absolutely furious. 

“What the fuck Argent?” He gently placed his son’s wrist down, the grabbed Chris’s own arm, pulling up his sleeve and showing the brilliant mark burned there. He must have seen the older man’s mark during the hours they had spent together but just noticed his sons. “How long have you fucking known? How long!”

Chris felt like he had been punched in the gut. “Since he went over the edge of that quarry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t want you to worry. I have no intention of hurting your son, of trying to take him away. I just want him to be OK.”

“You’re married, unless that ring on your finger is a lie too. What are you going to do about that? What’s your husband say about all of this?”

Chris didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what he and Peter were going to do. Hell, he didn’t know where Peter was. He hadn’t heard from him in days, not since he left. 

“Get out.” John’s face was hard, but his voice was quiet, out of concern for his once again sleeping son. “And don’t come back. Or I’ll arrest you for stalking.”

Chris looked one last time on his sleeping soulmate, praying to whoever was listening that he would see him again, then left.

\-----

Chris ended up in his SUV, sitting in the parking lot. He rested his forehead on the wheel, too tired to go anywhere.

Stiles had woken up. He spoke, he was aware. And now Chris might never see him again. Just because he hadn’t been upfront like he knew he should have been. He should have told John. Told him the truth and let it fall where it did. 

He wanted Peter. He wanted to have his husband with him. He missed Peter’s confidence in every situation, and he knew that if Peter were here, he would have a plan. He always had a plan. 

Before Chris could spiral too far down, his phone rang. He answered it without looking, hoping it would be Peter, but knowing it wasn’t.

“Hello.”

“Hey Chris.” Talia. She could probably feel the misery coming off him all the way from Beacon Hills through the pack bond. “Everything alright?”

He wanted to lie and say everything was fine. He wanted to handle this. Stiles was his soulmate. He had every right to march into that hospital and kick John out. But he couldn’t do that to John. It wasn’t fair.

“No.” If it had been anyone but his alpha on the phone, Chris would have been embarrassed by the sob that followed the world.

“Do you need one of us to come get you? I’m buried in paperwork today, but I could send Derek. Or Laura.”

“No.” He didn’t want the pack involved, not yet. “It’s just…”

No more lies. He was done with them. Keeping Stiles a secret hadn’t worked out well for him so far. 

“Peter and I have a third.” He said it in a rush and Talia’s “Oh honey,” was covered as he continued on without stopping. “He’s the Sheriff’s son. The boy I found the other night, nineteen years old. He’s hurt and he was kidnapped and now his dad found out that we’re mates and he kicked me out of the hospital and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do.”

“Jesus.” Talia sounded shocked, a rare occurrence. “Well that explains why Peter flew off to Europe.”

“Yea.” Chris didn’t want to talk about Peter.

“Chris, I think you should come to the pack house. Drive yourself if you don’t want us to pick you up, but you should be with family.”

The pack house was what Chris needed right now. He could tell Talia the whole story and let her wrap him up in a hug. James, her husband, would cook his favorite meal while the kids, teens and young adults really, ran around, their noise chasing off the horrible loneliness that he felt right now. They would comfort him and let him vent. It was safety and love all wrapped up in the wonderful bow of family.

But Stiles was here. He was asleep, but he might wake up. He might need him. His soulmate was afraid, that much was clear, and had been ever since they met. He couldn’t leave his young mate alone. Not like this. 

“I can’t leave him.”

Talia signed. “I knew you would say that. I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. But I want more regular updates from you. None of this, ‘I might need help with something’ then not hearing from you for a week.”

Chris managed a weak smile “Yes ma’am.”

“And try to keep in mind, his dad is probably just as upset as you are. I don’t think he really wants you gone. He probably just needed some space.”

That was possibly true. Hopefully. Maybe. 

“Thank Talia.”

“Love you. We all do. Even Peter, even though he’s a jackass.”

Chris snorted, then hung up the phone. He grabbed his phone charger and computer and went back inside, settling himself in the ICU waiting room. He was going to be there for Stiles, even if he wasn’t allowed in the room. They were soulmates. He wasn’t leaving him.


	4. Chapter 4

It was nearly nightfall when Chris looked up from his computer to glance at the figure standing in front of him. He had an arms deal that might actually go through, and had been emailing his contacts all day, except when he was grilling the nurses for updates.

He was surprised to see his husband standing there, a coffee in both hands and a takeout bag tucked under one arm. The wolf looked sheepish, his eyes almost too big and blue, as he held out the food and drink.

Chris took the coffee and the bag, pleased to find a sandwich in it. He had forgotten to eat today. He put away his things and devoured the food without once looking up at his mate. 

Peter took a seat beside him legs crossed, for all the world looking calm, almost bored. Chris knew him better. Peter’s eyes were tired, bags under them, and his hands were shaking around his cup. His hair was a mess and he was in the same suit he had been wearing when he ran off. 

They sat, sipping their coffee and watched the nurses pass by. Peter finally broke the silence. 

“Are you going to make me say it?

“Yep.”

“Fine. I’m sorry I ran off. It was childish and wrong. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

“Thank you.”

It was always difficult for Peter to apologize, a carryover from a vicious childhood mixing with his pride. Chris reached out and interlocked their hands, bringing them up to his lips and kissing the back of Peter’s hand, a more public display of affection than Chris usually allowed, before releasing it to finish his drink. 

“I’m sorry too. I should have told you the second I found out who Stiles was.”

Peter shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “I probably wouldn’t have handled it any better.” The wolf looked around at the empty waiting room. “Why are you out here? Shouldn’t you be with him?”

Chris noticed the pronoun instead of a name, but Peter was here. He was trying. He would take what he could get. 

“John found out about the soul mark. He didn’t take it well.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “I suspect you didn’t tell him about me.”

“He knows I’m married but not who you are. Not that we all share the same mark.” Which meant John assumed Chris would leave Peter. It was the custom, to divorce anyone who wasn’t a soulmate, if a soulmate was found. 

“Why not?”

Chris smirked humorlessly. “It didn’t come up.” Peter looked unimpressed and Chris took pity on him. “He kicked me out as soon as he saw the mark. I didn’t have a change to say anything else. That was hours ago. He won’t leave the room and I’m not fighting in front of Stiles, even if he isn’t awake.”

Peter cocked his head, listening. “The Sheriff isn’t in there now.”

Chris hesitated then stood, lacing his fingers with Peters’ and leaving his stuff in pile on the floor, trusting the lack of visitors to keep it safe. “Come on. Let’s go meet our soulmate.”

The nurses didn’t stop them as they walked down the hall. Maybe John didn’t have the authority to actually keep them out. Or they didn’t care to come between soulmates. Most people wouldn’t dare. 

Stiles was asleep when they walked into the room, but his color really was improving and he only had an oxygen cannula now, instead of a mask. 

Peter looked uncertain as he gazed at the figure on the bed, almost frightened. 

“He’s looking better.” Chris said. 

Peter rolled his eyes “Then he must have looked horrible before.” He took a step closer to the bed, nose wrinkling and letting go of Chris’ hand to grab the railing of the bed. “He smells like pain.”

Chris frowned, checking the board to see the last time meds had been administered. He was due for more, so he pushed the call button, moving to the bed and smoothing Stiles’ hair with practiced movements. 

Peter frowned as he watched. Chris didn’t know if it was possessiveness or something else flickering in his expression. 

“You can touch him you know. The doctors say it helps.”

Peter reached out, hand hovering centimeters from Stiles, then he drew back, shaking his head.

“No. Not like this. Not when he doesn’t know.”

Shit. Chris had forgotten they had never touched. They had yet to seal their bond. It was bad enough that Chris had done it under such horrible conditions. Peter deserved better. Stiles deserved better.

“Alright.” He said simply, squeezing Stiles hand to make up for it.

The nurse came in and Peter pulled him away. “John’s coming back. You don’t want to have this conversation right now. You’re too tired and he’s still angry.”

He was right. He took one last look at Stiles and let Peter steer him away. They gathered Chris’s things, then went home.

\------  
Peter couldn’t call off work completely, but he did rearrange some things so he could work from home for a few days. Chris had his deal to continue to work out, but he could do that from his home office and it looks like it would take a while to come together anyway. 

It was peaceful, to be home together. Their time at home, the domestic nature of it, the way Peter preened when Chris sat near him on the couch, the way Peter smiled to find his clothes folded the way he like, the way Peter would make fantastic dishes then act surprised they were any good, that was what made Chris fall in love, real true love, with Peter in the first place.

The first night they had immediately fallen into bed and slept curled in each other’s arms. It was the best sleep Chris had gotten since meeting Stiles. He woke feeling nearly hopeful, the idea that maybe he and Peter could work this out on his mind as they leisurely jerked each other off in bed, kissing sloppily.

They managed a few days on a semi-vacation, both doing only enough work to get by and spending the rest of the days curled up next to each other. Chris made Peter watch a couple movies that, despite Peter’s eye roll, were pretty good. Peter caught up on some reading, while Chris finally had time to sharpen all his knives. Chris suggested spending some time at the pack house, but Peter persuaded him not to go with kisses and dirty promises. 

It reminded Chris of their time courting. Courting, not dating, because according to werewolf culture, there was no such thing as dating for a wolf. There are no casual relationships. A person was either an acquaintance or pack, distant friend, or mate. It was intense, but Chris had loved the desperate nature of it. He had adored being Peter’s only focus during their early days, a feeling that had lessened as Peter’s career took off. 

The full moon came. Peter was clingy all day, and Chris let him be, soothing him with gentle hands and kind words. Chris cooked supper. It was normally Peter’s job, if they both managed to be home, but he was too full of nervous energy to handle being in the kitchen. Chris made steak and potatoes, Peter stealing his off the grill while it was still bloody.

They ran in the woods that night like they were still young and stupid, Peter in his wolf skin and Chris carrying only a silver tipped knife. Peter howled at the moon and Chris felt his blood sing in response. Peter shifted back, and they made love in the leaves under the moon, primal and rough, but softened by Peter’s soft kisses and quiet promises that he was his, that they were each other’s. 

They wandered back at dawn, the smell of the wild caught up on their skin. Peter carried Chris inside like they were newlyweds, nuzzling his husband’s neck like a pup as they drifted off. 

Chris woke first. He smothered a laugh when he caught sight of Peter, face smudged with dirt and normally carefully styled hair a mess. Peter was always a little wild before the moon and extremely lazy and clingy the day after. 

He ran a hand over his husbands check, brushing at the stubble there. There were lines on his face. There were many on his own as well. Chris had never regretted them. Growing old was something few hunters were privileged with. 

“What’s wrong?” Pale blue eyes met his own.

“You’re thirty-one.”

“Yes.” Peter smiled teasingly, not understanding the point and pulling them close, nuzzling against Chris’ chest. “And you’re thirty-six now. We’re old men. We should really be considering retiring.”

“Stiles is nineteen.”

Peter’s face shut down and he stood. “I’m going to shower. Then I should go back to work.”

“Peter.” Chris pleaded, as the bathroom door slammed shut, a physical reminder of how Peter felt about their third. 

\------  
They drove together into the city solely because Peter had driven Chris home in the SUV, leaving the Jaguar at the hospital. The car was silently as Chris switched off the radio and Peter answered work emails on his phone, the feeling of contentment from their little vacation long gone. 

Chris pulled up to the Hale Law Offices and waited on his husband to leave, hands tight on the wheel. Anger and hurt were at war in his belly. He was afraid that if he said anything, he would make it worse. 

Peter’s face was blank in a way that reminded Chris of a much younger man, afraid in the woods as his arm burned with the claiming of a soul bond that neither of them wanted.

They sat long enough car behind them honked before screeching around them, the driving flipping Chris off, only adding to his anger. 

He turned around to tell Peter to get the fuck out, but Peter finally opened his mouth. “I understand the boy is important to you.”

“Fuck you. He’s important to us.”

“I hardly know him. Neither do you for that matter. But that isn’t my point. My point is, I know you want to be a part of his life. And I don’t want to stand in the way of that.”

“I need to have a relationship with him Peter.”

“And I want you to. But I don’t.”

“Peter.” Chris pleaded. They were a trio. He wasn’t leaving Peter for Stiles. They were all meant to be together. 

“At least not right now.” Peter hedged, looking mildly unsure. “So, do what you have to do. Stay at the apartment, stay at the hospital. Talk to Talia about him. But, don’t ask me to do the same.”

“Fine. Your car is still at the hospital. Get it whenever.” Chris drove off without a goodbye kiss, anger finally winning out over hurt.

It wasn’t fair to any of them, but when was life ever fair. No one would be happy, but at least no one would be hurt. It would have to do, for now.

\----  
They fell into any easy pattern, considering how absurd their situation was. Chris still spent most of his time at the hospital, though he was having to make several short trips out of town to deal with his various sellers. His deal was proving to be harder than he anticipated. The buyer looked great on paper, but Chris got a bad vibe. He kept changing the numbers of how many guns he wanted, and what types, making it hard for Chris to file the appropriate paperwork. It was going to take months to get it straightened out. 

Peter, who by his very natural was a nocturnal creature, switched his hours at the office. Instead of going in midmorning and staying late, he started getting up early with Chris. They would have breakfast together, go to work or the hospital, then Peter would nearly always be home for dinner.

It was nice to see Peter making such an effort. If it weren’t for the fact that it stemmed from the possessive nature of the wolf, it would be the happiest Chris had been since the honeymoon phase. But, as it was, there was a Stiles shaped hole in everything they did, mocking them. 

John had relented on Chris’ visitation relatively quickly. Chris had stayed away from the hospital for nearly a week, though he had been calling the nurses for daily updates. Stiles had been moved from the ICU to a regular room, but still wasn’t doing as well as they had hoped. 

He was weak, physically, sleeping most of the day, making it hard to get physical therapy done. Mentally, he was erratic, going from fearful to angry in the blink of an eye. He was also having trouble keeping food down. The nurses had tried different diets, but they all ended up in an emesis basin. The doctors muttered things like trauma and mental disorders, but either way, Stiles had ended up with a feeding tube and his recovery stalled.

The day Chris had come back, John had hunted him down in the waiting room, sitting down across from him, glaring. 

“So, your husband is Peter Hale the hot shot lawyer. Of the big old Hale family.” Everything about John screamed defensive. His arms and legs were crossed, and the hardness in his eyes showing Chris how exactly he managed to keep his position as Sheriff even through his tragedy. 

“Yes.” It wasn’t a secret, nearly everyone in town knew they were married. The Sheriff must have finally figured it out. Chris had chosen not to take the Hale last name only because he had already begun to create a name in the industry, not to mention his own family legacy behind the Argent name. 

“And he probably told you that I can’t legally ban you from Stiles’ room.”

“He didn’t have to tell me. I know the laws.”

“And what is your lawyer husband going to do about your marriage? Will he draw up the divorce papers himself?”

Chris wanted to tell John to fuck off, that it was none of his business. But he couldn’t image how he would feel if it is was his kid in that bed, the kid that had practically come back from the dead, being taken away from him. Not that Chris was planning to do that. But the anger came from fear, and Chris could understand it. He had felt it himself, many times.

Besides, honesty was always the best policy. “We won’t need to get divorced. We all share the soul mark.”

John didn’t look surprised, just resigned. He barked out a humorless laugh. “Figures. Stiles never did anything half-assed. If he was going to have one soul mate, he might as well have two.”

“I know it’s difficult for you. I’m sorry.” The apology tasted bitter. Chris didn’t want to apologize for being Stiles’ mate. But he wanted to be on good terms with John. It would make life easier. 

The Sheriff’s eyes softened as he unhooked his legs and leaned forward. “He asks for you. By name even.”

Chris raided his eyebrows in surprise. He didn’t think Stiles would want to see him. 

“Don’t rub it in my face and you can spend as much time in there as you want.”

Chris took his victory and began camping out in Stiles’ hospital room, eager to spend as much time as he could with him.

\-----  
Stiles recovery was mess of contradictions. He was physically weak, which made his bodily recovery difficult, but he pushed himself hard. Any fear of brain damage was long gone, but he didn’t focus well, eyes drifting off even when someone was talking to him, something his dad said was normal. Yet, Stiles refused to take any medication for the ADD and everyone got tired of try to force him. 

His therapies lead to an interesting, if disturbing realization. Every time one would come into his room and try to maneuver his limbs into working order, Stiles would panic. It was messy, ending with Stiles screaming until a nurse sedated him, or the therapist would take pity and quit leaving him shaking and silently sobbing without tears, muscles wound so tight that any progress was undone. 

A psychiatrist was quickly added to his list of doctors, but Stiles refused to talk to him. If fact, he refused to talk at all most of the time, only answering yes or no questions when he felt like it. He wouldn’t take about his kidnapping at all, not even when his dad brought in a deputy from Beacon Hills, though he did smile shyly at her when she cried from how happy she was to see him.

He was stubborn, refusing to break down and let anybody help him in any way. When the therapists weren’t there he would work on his exercises until he was too tired to move, apparently determined to do it on his own. He got up out of bed within three days of waking up, something the nurses didn’t think possible and promptly tried to walk out of the hospital, collapsing in the hall and leading to several more days of bed rest. He wasn’t allowed to be alone after that. 

It was frustrating for everyone, but especially John. Apparently, they had been close before Stiles had disappeared, and to have his son refusing to talk to him and flinching away from his touch was difficult. When Stiles would fall asleep, John would look at his son so sadly, his mind clearly fixating on what his son must have gone thorough to change so radically. 

Chris suspected that was part of the reason John relented on the ban. He needed help dealing with all of it. Chris did what he could just to be there, but there wasn’t much he could do to help, though with every passing day, Chris found that he admired Stiles' tenacity more and more. Stiles was determined to get better no matter what his body said.

For the most part, Stiles ignored Chris, in that he never talked to him, or made eye contact. But he did seem to do better with his therapy if he was in the room, something John and the nurses noticed. Chris tried to spend as much time as possible in there, quietly working or reading if the nurses or therapist were working with Stiles. 

In fact, it was Chris who found out the real problem with therapy. Stiles hated being touched. It shouldn’t have been a surprise considering, but no one had thought about it.

He first noticed it when the on-call nurse was taking Stiles’ vitals after a partially bad episode with the psychiatrist that ended with Stiles screaming that he would never talk to the doctor again. Every time her hands touched his skin, he flinched, hard. The nurse though he was in pain and increased his meds, but Chris didn’t notice any line of pain on his face. 

After that Chris paid attention to each interaction from his spot in the corner. He found out he was right. Stiles flinched from everyone’s touch, even his dad’s. In fact, he seemed to dislike John’s the most, rubbing anywhere his dad touched with the sheet after. 

He approached Dr. Smithery quietly, not sure if his plan would work. It was decided that anytime Stiles was touched, gloves would be worn, even if they weren’t necessary. The next time the physical therapist came in, he wore gloves. Stiles was tense, but they made it through an entire session. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a step in the right direction. 

\------  
After that, Stiles recovery began to go better. Stiles seemed determined to get up as soon as humanly possible. It wasn’t long at all before he was up and walking, his cast barely slowing him down. The doctors began to talk about releasing him, even though he was still having trouble keeping food down. 

It was the day before he was to be released that Stiles finally spoke to Chris directly. They were alone, Chris working on his laptop, Stiles was playing with play dough, trying to gain back the fine muscle dexterity on his left hand. His cast had been traded for a hard brace, and he had some movement back in his broken arm and hand, but there had been nerve damage that the doctors were hoping to reverse. 

“Chris,” Stiles said quietly, rolling the dough between his fingers. 

Chris flinched at the surprise of being address directly but managed not to fly to his feet in astonishment. He looked up, trying to stay calm and not look too eager at finally being acknowledged. 

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to go home.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Oh.” Stiles didn’t look at him, he never looked directly at anyone if he could avoid it, but he was clearly waiting on more of an answer. 

“It’s probably feels weird after everything you have been through. But your dad has been talking about how excited he is to have you back. I’m sure once you adjust, it will feel like home again.”

Stiles looked upset, face twisting. “I don’t want to go back to his house.”

Chris’s stomach dropped at the implication. He didn’t like to think about John hurting Stiles, that maybe he was the reason Stiles had disappeared in the first place. The Sheriff seemed go happy to have him back, but then again, some of the worst kinds of people were the best at pretending they were upstanding citizens. 

He stood up calmly and moved to the bedside. Stiles wouldn’t look up. He fixed his mate with a hard stare, knowing he would feel the weight of it all the same. 

“Stiles are you afraid of your father?”

The younger man jerked his head up, eyes blazing and looking more alive than he had since he woke up. “What? No. Never! My dad is amazing. He’s a great cop. He’s a good dad. He is putting everything on hold for me to get better and” Stiles took a deep breath and Chris could seem him forcing himself to calm down. “He would never ever hurt me.”

“They why don’t you want to go home?”

Stiles was quiet for a long moment, staring the wall now, instead of Chris, eyes glazed over slightly. “Because it’s not home. Not anymore.”

Chris’s brow furrowed. He got it. He couldn’t image trying to go back to his childhood home now, not after everything that had happened there, now that he had changed so much. Stiles had to feel the same. But it didn’t matter. There wasn’t any other place to go.

“I’m sorry” He reached out and brushed Stiles’ hand, ignoring the flinch. “But there isn’t anywhere else for you to go.”

Stiles fixed his eyes of Chris’s, face tight with the effort it took to make eye contact. Chris shuttered at the haunted, emptily look in them. “I could go home with my soulmate.”

Chris heart jumped to his throat. He couldn’t deny that is what he really wanted. Because he loved him. Not just because they were soulmates, but because he fell for him. 

He had originally hoped that their relationship might be platonic. Trio’s sometimes were, so some degree of another. Between the age difference and the sheer trauma Stiles had been through, Chris hoped that was all they would be. 

Sure, Stiles was attractive. He had thought that from the start. His eyes were soulful and gorgeous. His skin was smooth and delicately pale. Chris wanted to fun his hands all over it, to see if it was as soft as it looked. He wanted to taste his supple lips and run his hands through Stiles’ hair, to find out if Stiles would be the comfort to Peter’s passion, the missing piece they didn’t know they were missing. 

Chris had pushed those thoughts away, hard. It wasn’t alright for him to think like that. He refused to take advantage of Stiles’ vulnerable state. 

But then Stiles started getting better. And Chris fell in love with his stubborn determination. He loved how even though therapy would reduce him to tear-less sobs, he would do the exercises every time he was awake. He loved how he threw himself into relieving all the basic motions skills he had lost without a single complaint. He was a survivor in every way and the strongest man Chris had ever met. He didn’t know if would be possible not to love him.

He should tell Stiles that coming home with him wasn’t a possibility. That the Sheriff would never allow it. That it was a bad idea in every way. 

“Yes.”

Peter was going to kill him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are mentions of rape/non-con in this chapter. It isn't graphic (and not between Stiles and Chris!), but please be aware, if it is a trigger for you.

Stiles stood outside Chris’s rather large house, feeling a rather detached sort of nervous. The detachment was normal. He didn’t feel things like he used to. It would make him sad, but he didn’t feel that either.

He felt anger and he felt fear. That was it and it was plenty. 

It was a lovely house, in a somewhat rustic way. It was a blue house, with white shutters and stonework on the front porch that wrapped around. There was a large garage out back that Chris didn't park in. Most importantly, Stiles could easily count at least four doors that led outside. 

It should be easy to escape. 

Chris shut the trunk where he had been gathering up Stiles’ things. There wasn’t much of them. Mostly some generic toiletries and his crutches, a few new changes of clothes. None of his old clothes fit. They were all too big. His dad had bought the new things, before he found out Stiles wasn’t coming back to Beacon Hills.

Stiles had been blunt. After Chris had given his permission, Stiles had told his father that he wasn’t coming home. He felt only numbness as his father’s face fell, before the Sheriff asked to see his soulmate outside. Stiles knew they fought, just like he knew Chris’ husband didn’t want him to move in. But it didn’t matter. Stiles was never going home. He wasn’t about to put his father in that kind of danger. 

Chris handed him his crutches and ushered him towards the house. Stiles was slow on his crutches but moving easier now that is arm brace was gone, though he still had stabbing pains sometimes. He made his way up the steps to the front porch, pretending to be admiring the landscaping, but wondering what types of plants a hunter grew, because sure as fuck Chris was a hunter. The talk of arms deals, the way he scoped out every room he walked into, the bulge of a gun on his side, even at a hospital. Not to mention, the name Argent had been drilled into his head as a constant threat to those who held him. Silver was death. 

He didn’t see any wolfsbane, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t somewhere. 

Chris opened the door for him. His face was blank, an expression that Stiles had figured out meant that he was upset and trying to hide it. 

“Kitchen and dining room is through there. Help yourself to anything you find. Peter is a bit of a health nut. Most of it is a little earthy for my taste.”

Ah, Peter. The husband. Stiles hadn’t met him yet, but he knew the man didn’t like him. He hadn’t come to the hospital and apparently never asked about him. Stiles had no idea what he was like, other than he was some sort of lawyer. And apparently his other soulmate. 

Stiles assumed Peter thought he was trying to steal Chris. That wasn’t true. Sure, Chris was attractive, in a world where that was something he could think about and sure, he made Stiles feel almost safe. Almost. But he wasn’t stupid. Soulmates were just another type of slavery. Someone else for him to be bound to without his consent. He didn’t want Chris, he didn’t trust him, and he would be gone as soon as he could run. 

Chris was still talking. Stiles forced himself to pay attention. It could be important. “The spare bedrooms are upstairs. So are mine and Peter’s offices. Our bedroom is at the back of the house. There is a basement too, but I would prefer if you never went down there. It’s where I keep my guns. It could be dangerous for you.”

Stiles stopped himself from snorting. Dangerous. Chris didn’t know what danger was, even if he was a hunter. 

He meandered the house, Chris a few steps behind. It was nice, an interesting combination of rustic and modern, sleek surfaces accented by wooden beams and slats. The furniture and décor were a series of grays and off whites. Stiles liked it. It felt free and open, the dinning, kitchen and family room all flowing together nicely. He drug his fingers along the wall, leaving his scent all over simply because he could. 

There were only a few pictures scattered about, mostly of Chris and Peter, though a few had others Stiles didn’t know. Most of them only had Chris facing the camera, his husband always looking down or away, though there was one of both of them wearing sunglasses and grinning madly at the camera. They looked happy. It made Stiles stomach hurt, and for the first time, he felt bad about taking advantage of Chris and forcing himself on them.

“We don’t have any spare rooms downstairs. So, I thought we would put you in the den, since the stairs could be difficult with your leg.”

Stiles nodded relieved that he wouldn’t be in their bedroom, at least not yet. Maybe he wouldn’t be. Chris didn’t act like a wolf. He didn’t look at Stiles like he was a piece of meat and treat him like shit. He was hunter. Maybe with Chris, Stiles would never have to screw him or Peter. After all, Chris was kind and patient with Stiles’ injuries, taking care to touch him as little as possible. It was more than he deserved. 

He hated being fucked when he was hurt. At least when he was well, he would focus on other things, pretend he was anywhere else but under a wolf. When he was hurt, it was all he could think about. 

He froze when Chris opened the French doors to the den. The couch was pulled out into a bed and there was a sort of low drawers beside it, likely for clothes that Stiles didn’t own. There was a TV on the wall and an impressive sound system as well. 

There was a time when Stiles would have loved an entertainment system like that, but it had been beat out of him a long time ago. He didn’t even glance up when he saw a screen anymore, no matter what was on it. TV was for the alpha’s, though Duke didn’t care for it anyway.

None of those things mattered, however. What mattered was the entire wall of books. More books that Stiles had seen since he was taken. There was a set of chairs that looked ready to be collapsed on with a novel. 

It looked like heaven. 

He was scared to move closer. This had to be a trick. Chris would show him all of this, then tell him he had to sleep outside chained to a tree. Or worse, in his bed. 

“Do you like to read?” Chris asked, following Stiles’ stare. 

Stiles nodded hesitantly. He had always enjoyed it growing up, but during his captivity, he learned to love it. If he could steal a book and manage to read it in secret, it was like escaping, if only for a moment. He had been punished several times for it but unlike TV, it was worth the risk.

“Well, help yourself. Most of them are Peter’s but he won’t mind. He likes to buy books, not borrow them. Says the story is better if you own it.” Chris shrugged. “I’m more of an outdoors sort of guy.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment, before Stiles maneuvered his way inside the room. He wouldn’t touch the books, just in case it was a test, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to look a little closer. Chris still didn’t scream at him, even when he was only feet away from the shelves. 

“Well, I’ll let you get settled.” Chris dumped the duffel on the bed. “Get some rest. Tomorrow will be busy enough. I’ll get you for supper.”

Stiles wrinkled his nose. Part of his deal to get to live here was that he would have physical therapy three times a week, at the house luckily, and see a psychologist once a week, no complains. He also had to call his dad every other day. He didn’t mind the doctors and therapists, but he hated that he even had to talk to his dad. It would have been so much easier if he could have had a clean break away from his father.

“Hey Chris.” The hunter turned his head as he headed towards the door. “Thanks.”  
\------  
Stiles didn’t sleep, though he did put away his things in the hope that he would truly be allowed to sleep in the den. 

He was tense, unsure of what was to happen next. He didn’t know what his duties here would be. The house seemed clean enough, but Stiles knew he could do better and he was good cook. The wolves even grudgingly admitted it. Maybe if he cleaned and cooked well enough, Chris wouldn’t call him to his bed. 

He knew it was his duty, as a soulmate, but he hoped to put if off as long as possible. He didn’t think Chris would be one to enjoy a forced rape. He was the type to pretend to seduce, like Kali had done. 

Then again, Chris had been nothing but kind. His touches never lingered, and his gaze never undressed him. Maybe it was Peter he had to worry about. 

But Chris seemed to be the head of the house. Peter was the one who had to work, while Chris stayed home. Chris said Stiles could come live here and Peter hadn’t stopped him. Surely, Peter would obey whatever his husband wanted. 

Worrying did nothing but hurt his stomach, but he was too afraid to open one of those tantalizing books. It could be a trick. 

He was sitting straight backed on the edge of his bed, stretching his muscles as best he could when he heard the front door slam. Voices murmured. Chris husky and low, the other smooth and light. Peter was home. 

Chris came and fetched him for dinner a few minutes later. He led him to the dining room, where a roast and potatoes were laid out. No one else was in the room. 

Stiles eyes the three place settings uneasily. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten at a table. “Where do you want me to sit?” 

“Peter likes to face the door, so you can sit on this side with me.”

Stiles nodded and went to place his crutches against the far wall, where they would be out of the way. Someone cleared their throat behind him, making him jump slightly. 

“Ah, here he is. Peter this is Stiles. Stiles, this is my husband, Peter Hale.” Chris came up beside Stiles and turned him around, looking happier that Stiles had ever since him, as he looked as his husband. All the lines in his face relaxed and he smiled fondly, his hand warm on his shoulder where Stiles hesitantly let it stay. 

Stiles turned to face Peter, then froze so completely his heart stuttered. Chris’ hand tightened as Stiles refused to breathe. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Peter was a werewolf. He was a wolf. He wasn’t wearing his beta face or his wolf skin, but it was clear the second he walked into the room. He walked like a predator, he carried himself like an animal. Everything, from the gate of his step to the cock of his head, screamed power. 

He should kneel. He should show respect. He had been terribly forward, convincing Chris he should stay in a wolf’s home. But he had assumed they both were human, that Chris was the dominate of the pair and that Chris liked him. Maybe if he was humble enough now, his punishment would be light. He should throw himself down and beg for mercy.

Shit, Chris. Did Chris know Peter was a wolf? He had too. They were married, had been for years. Then again, Stiles didn’t know about Ethan until they had fucked several times, and only because he had made the alpha so angry, he had accidentally wolfed out mid-thrust. It had been a hell of a fucking shock.

But Chris was a hunter. They killed wolves. It didn’t make any sense. 

He wanted to run, but even if his leg wasn’t in a cast, he couldn’t outrun a wolf. 

Peter was frowning at him now. Frowning wasn’t good. Shit. He was taking too long. 

“Stiles?” Chris asked and he had a feeling it wasn’t the first time he had said it. 

“Are you alright?” Peter’s voice was smooth, almost seductive, and Stiles gasped a breath. He knew his heart was pounding and the wolf would be able to smell his fear, calling him out as prey.

His body made the decision for him, knees giving out, and head back, showing his throat. Or at least it would have, if Chris hadn’t caught him around the waist and held him up.

“Stiles!” Chris sounded worried, but he didn’t matter. The alpha was the only one that mattered. And he didn’t look pleased.

“He looks unwell Chris. This might have been too much. Why don’t you take him back to his room and I’ll fix him a plate.”

No, no. The alpha couldn’t serve him. 

“No. No sir. I’m fine. I can stay.”

“Sir?” Peter’s tone was light, joking almost, but he could feel the weight of his gaze. He wondered if his eyes were glowing. Stiles was too afraid to look at the alpha’s face, much less his eyes.

“Master. I can do whatever you like Master.”

There was an awful silence. Stiles shivered in Chris’ arms. He risked a glance at the hunter’s face. He seemed to be having a conversation with the wolf using just his eyes. 

“Peter will work fine.” The tone was still amused but the words were clipped, like he was forcing himself to say it. “If you insist on staying, let’s sit down.”

The rest of the meal was silent. He was tight, careful, not looking up and trying to make himself as small as possible. His own portion already on his plate was much smaller than the others, but he was glad for it. He tended to vomit still and that wouldn’t be acceptable. He couldn’t show weakness in front of the alpha. The other men ate, the alpha with the normal appetite of wolf, but just as quietly as Stiles. 

Once they finished, Stiles sat face carefully blank. Anger was beginning to replace the fear and panic that had hit once Peter’s species was discovered. He couldn’t believe that this was his fate, to be bound to a wolf yet again. His body shook at the unfairness of it but he fought it down, desperate to keep the scent of hate off of him. They weren't bound yet. Not yet. 

The room was silent. The other two men were giving each other meaningful glances. Stiles stood to begin clearing plates, carefully keeping his eyes down and posture subservient. He knew how to play this game. He could be submissive. He could cook and clean and fuck while the rage burned inside. He got away once. He would do it again.

He reached for Chris plate, only to be stopped by a soft hand on his arm. He jerked away, hating how he had almost gotten used to the idea of Chris' touch.

“Stiles, you aren’t our servant here. You’re our soulmate. Granted, I’m not entirely sure how you are going to fit in yet, but we will figure it out. Together. And it’s not to your job clean up after us. We pay a service plenty of money to do that. You’re not here to work. You’re here to heal.”

It felt like a trick. Chris had to be kidding. His blue eyes were sparkling as he looked at his husband, but when he looked at Stiles, they were serious. Stiles was so confused. 

“You’re safe here.”

Stiles hadn’t been safe in years. He asked to be excused, and once granted, hobbled back to his room, stopping at the bathroom to throw up everything he had managed to eat during dinner before curing up on the all too comfortable bed and falling into an uneasy sleep, terrified of what was to come, but ever so grateful to be here and not with his dad.

At least his dad was safe.

\-------  
His days didn’t get any less confusing. 

Chris seemed sincere that he didn’t want Stiles cleaning or generally waiting on them. The next day, he hung around during the morning for physical therapy, then went upstairs to his office. 

“I’m working on a big contract now. I’m busier than usual. But if you need anything, holler.” Chris smiled apologetically.

“I’m fine.” Stiles was, mostly. A little sore from therapy and worried that Peter, who left early this morning before Stiles was out of his room, might come back unexpectedly, but it was okay. He would work his body up to its old strength, get a handle on his mind, and get out of here. 

“Keep yourself occupied. Whatever you want to do.”

Stiles waited until he heard the office door shut before he pulled out the cleaning supplies he found under the sink in the downstairs bathroom. It was mostly all-natural cleaners, better for werewolf noses, but there was bleach too. There was always bleach. He got to work. 

He had the bathroom scrubbed top to bottom, even got the hard-water stains out of the tub. He was nearly done giving the kitchen the same treatment, when Chris wandered down. 

“Hey Stiles, want me to grab some sandwiches-what the hell are doing?” The hunter’s expression went from placid to furious in a heartbeat. 

Stiles froze. “I thought, I though you said to keep myself occupied.” 

“Yeah, with a movie or books, not cleaning until your hands are raw. Jesus.”

Chris grabbed at Stiles irritated hands at pushed them under the kitchen sink, rubbing cool water on them, to get the chemicals off. Stiles focused on the sting of the water and not how safe he felt with Chris bracketed around him, hands rubbing together. 

“There, is that better?” Chris asked. Stiles could feel his breath against his neck and flushed, not at all enjoying how much his body was liking it. He squirmed, torn between wanting to push away and wanting to pull in closer. 

Chris seemed to sense how uncomfortable he was. He broke away and began cleaning up the supplies and asking, again, about lunch.

He probably should have worn gloves.   
\-----  
After that, Chris made up a schedule. Monday, Tuesday and Thursday were physical therapy in the morning. Friday was for the physiologist, in the afternoon. The rest of his doctors’ appointments, and there were a lot, general practice, dietitian, optometrist and dentist, were scattered throughout the week. 

When they weren’t at an appointment, Stiles wasn’t allowed to clean, no matter how much he wanted to. They had a service for that. Though, in all fairness, he couldn’t exactly explain that he wanted the house to be clean so that Peter didn’t take him to bed, which was his actual plan. Distract the wolf and avoid sex. Chris seemed to think he wanted to clean out of some sort of twisted gratitude. 

Instead Chris had him read or watch TV, though Stiles didn’t much care for TV anymore. It was too loud, most of the time. He couldn’t hear what Chris was doing in the house if it was on. They took walks in the afternoon, if Stiles leg didn’t hurt too much, or at least sat on the porch to get some sun. It was still cool out, but spring was in the air. It wouldn’t be long and the world would come back alive. 

It wasn’t just cleaning. Chris wouldn’t let him do much of anything. He wouldn’t let him do the laundry, or help with the landscaping, or detail the cars. He about lost his mind when Stiles offered to help him clean the knives. 

If fact, the only thing Chris would really let him help with was the cooking. Stiles suspected it was a cross between Chris being a terrible cook and the fact that when Stiles was in the kitchen, the hunter would push food on him.

He his current weight was a problem. The doctors worried about it, Chris worried about it, hell, his dad worried about it, if Chris’ constant begging him to eat was to be believed. 

The doctors basically said Stiles had missed his growth period. He was actually smaller than he had been when he was taken, having lost a tremendous amount of weight. He might be able to catch up, he was young enough and his growth plates hadn’t sealed yet, but it would take very good nutrition, and even then, he would likely always be slight. 

It didn’t bug him, the wolves always liked that he was small, but it seemed to bother everyone else. Even Peter would watch his food intake, his sharp blue eyes following the fork across the plate. 

Chris had bought these disgusting protein shakes. They tasted like chalk, but Chris always looked so happy when he ate one with his meal or as a snack. He choked them down. He needed to put back on as much weight as possible, if only to get Peter to stop watching him.

It was nice, cooking with Chris. The kitchen was cozy when it filled with the smell of melted butter and fresh meat, the widows steaming up with the heat. It reminded Stiles of long before, when his mother was still alive, when he would laugh for no reason other than the fact he was with her. 

In fact, he liked doing a lot of things with Chris. His anger with the hunter had faded to a dull ember. He felt like Chris genuinely thought he was doing the best thing he could for Stiles. It was hard to stay angry with him the fool whose only sin was falling in love with a monster. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was himself of Peter. 

He spent as much time with the man as he could, following him like a pup around the house. Chris was patent with him. He would ask him questions, careful to never bring up his time kidnapped, but question about before. What he liked, what he used to do, what his dreams for the future had been. He answered as best he could, though it disturbed him to find that more often than not, he didn’t remember what he used to be like. It was too long ago.

Stiles mostly avoided Peter, and surprisingly, Peter avoided Stiles more often than not. They were never in a room alone together. Stiles was starting to think that his first assumption was right. Chris was the dominant of the pair and Peter had no intention of claiming him without Chris’s blessing. Which meant he was about as safe as he could be anywhere.

\-----  
Stiles got away with not calling his father for over a week. It wasn’t until the second Saturday with Chris that he got caught. Peter on the couch reading with Chris’s feet on his lap, Chris watching some sort of fishing show. Chris, Stiles had discovered, like action and sports. Stiles found he didn’t mind the TV as much when Chris was there. Stiles huddled in a chair, hoping he wasn’t noticed and watching the two of them interact, planning his escape, when Chris got the call.

He got up and walked away to take it, and when he came back, he was frowning.

“Stiles, why haven’t you been calling your dad? You said you would and he was pretty freaked out that he didn’t hear from you in almost two weeks. I’ve been keeping him up to date, but he wants to hear from you.”

Stiles eyes darted between the two. Chris looked upset, but not mad. Peter didn’t even look up from his book.

“I don’t have a phone. And I didn’t see a landline. I just figured you were calling him for me.”

“You could have asked to use one of our phones. I’ve told you to ask if you needed anything.” Chris was pinching the bridge of his nose like he had a headache. 

“Well,” Peter said, and Stiles hid his hands so the alpha wouldn’t see them shaking. This was it. This was where he started to be punished. “Perhaps you should have thought that Stiles might need his own phone. Or some clothes that actual fit.” 

Peter looked in disdain at the baggy t-shirt Stiles was wearing with a pair of drawstring pull up pants before going back to his book.

“Its fine.” He understood why Chris was mad, but not why Peter was sticking up for him. “I don’t need anything. “You have provided very well for me Peter. And you too Chris.”  
He didn’t like this at all. There was way too much attention on him.

Chris was really frowning now, looking between the two of them. “No, it’s a good idea for you to have a phone. For emergencies.”

“Maybe we should go shopping.” Peter’s eyes gleamed dangerously at the idea. “I think it’s time we go out as a family.”

\------  
An hour later found Stiles in the car with both his soulmates, carefully keeping his face blank, though he was terrified on the inside. 

“Calm down Stiles.” Peter said, not taking his eyes off the road. Fucking wolf could probably hear his heart racing. “It’s just a store.”

It had nothing to do with the store, if that was where they were going. It was the fucking car. The drive. Peter was driving them. And they could be going anywhere. Peter could be driving them out to an abandoned building to murder him. 

And sure, Chris had taken him to a few doctor’s appointments. And his useless psychologist , who just kept saying he was safe and that he was home. That he needed to talk about his feelings. That he was depressed. 

Fuck that guy. 

Because maybe he was safe with Chris. But this was Peter and even with Chris in the front seat, Stiles was about a second from throwing himself out of the moving car. 

“I don’t like cars” he muttered, the closest he could come to the truth. Peter heard him, naturally, and smirked. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

They ended up in Beacon Hills. Chris thought it would be easier for Stiles first trip out than San Francisco. Less people and noise. Plus, Beacon Hills was closer. He was thoughtful that way.

He didn’t think about the fact that Stiles hadn’t been back to his hometown in four years and how it might make him feel. Stiles looked at the storefronts and houses he used to know pass him by with sadness. He hadn’t thought he would ever see this place again. The town hadn’t changed, but at the same time, it was so different. 

He jerked out of his melancholy as they reached the cell phone store. They walked in, Chris and Peter holding hands and ushering him in front of them, slowly as the crutches were still slowing him down. The store was nearly empty. A salesman came and Peter took him to the side, talking in low tones, as Chris motioned Stiles towards the newest models. 

“Pick anything you like.”

Stiles let his fingers brush over the shiny surfaces. Phones had changed a lot since he had been taken. They were smaller now and had basically no buttons. He didn’t know how to use them. 

“I don’t know.” Stiles didn’t want to fail this test and be punished. He wanted a phone. “You pick.”

Chris scratched his head, wandering a few feet away. He picked up a slightly clunky looking one.

“This is what I use. But I mostly got it because its durable, waterproof. It doesn’t do much besides make calls and text. You probably want something more tech friendly.” 

That sounded like plenty to Stiles. 

“I like it.” 

They walked to the counter to pay. Peter, who Stiles had lost track off, came over and promptly pulled the box out of Chris’s hands. Stiles wanted to cry. He knew it was too good to be true. 

“Chris, you know that model is a dinosaur. This is one is better.” 

He slid a brand new sleek and shiny phone across the counter. The box suggested all kinds of fancy things, an excellent camera and lots of storage space. Stiles didn’t know what it all meant, but it seemed wonderful. The salesman hurried to ring them up, suggesting they add a case, which Chris happily did. 

Stiles couldn’t stop looking at Peter. He didn’t understand. Why would the wolf want him to have a phone?

In the end, he shrugged it off. He wanted it and had gotten it. He would deal with any repercussions when they came. 

They were walking back to the car, when Stiles had that indescribable feeling that he was being watched. He had long ago learned to trust his instincts and whirled around, eye scanning the empty parking lot, wishing yet again his leg was healed enough to run.

“What?” Chris asked. Peter hesitated by the car, nostrils flaring like he smelt something. 

“Nothing.” Stiles' heart was pounding but he couldn’t see anything amiss. “Let’s go.”

They ended up getting the basics at Target, instead of going to the mall. Stiles was grateful. His arms were hurting from the crutches by the time they made it into the story. He wasn’t used to going such far distances on them. 

It was nice-domestic almost. Stiles ran his fingers over a Marvel t-shirt before grabbing a plain blue shirt. A few pairs of jeans, more boring shirts, a new pair of tennis shoes because he had been wearing flats that had no arch support and his physical therapist said that wasn’t good for him.

Peter actually wrinkled his nose at Stiles choices but said nothing. Stiles had noticed the wolf wore nothing but designer clothes, where Chris wore nothing with a label. 

Chris let him pick out some toiletries for himself. He got the smelliest body wash and deodorant he could find, but Peter still didn’t say anything even though Stiles knew wolves hated artificial scents. He just threw a pack of razors in the cart and pushed it to the checkout. 

Stiles felt the same feeling as they left that store as well. He resisted the urge to look this time. The feeling of stranger danger had to be in his head. People were probably just looking at him because he was walking with two older, hot men. Or because they recognized the Sheriff’s long lost son.

By the time they were done, Stiles was worn out, shaking and on edge all the same time. Chris took a quick look at his face and suggested they grab something at a drive through instead of going to a sit-down restaurant. Stiles flashed him a grateful smile, and Chris’ face light up in response. It made Stiles feel good, to know he could make his soulmate look that happy.

It wasn’t until they were halfway home that Stiles realized that he could have used the opportunity to run. He could have pick pocketed Chris and been on a bus out of town before they knew he was missing. His cast might have slowed him down, but with the therapy, he was moving fast enough. 

Shit, he was getting too comfortable.   
\-----

Chris wanted him to call his dad as soon as they got home, but first Stiles excused himself to go unpack his new purchases, managing to shake off the offer of the takeout dinner by agreeing to drink a protein shake.

It didn’t take long to unpack. He plugged in his new phone to let it charge, still unable to believe it was really his. 

He laid on his bed, waiting. He was tired and debated taking a nap, even though Peter was home. He thought it would be safe enough. Peter wouldn’t try anything with Chris in the next room over. Probably.

He had been napping a lot lately. All the doctors said he was healing and that it would require lots of rest. Except his psychologist who thought it was a symptom of depression. God, he hated that guy. He thought he was just tired. That and he didn’t really sleep at night. Not with a werewolf in the next room. Because he wasn’t fucking depressed. 

But he had taken to napping in the day when Peter was at work. His favorite thing to do was creep into Chris’s office, after he had been working a while. If he went too soon, Chris wasn’t focused enough on his work and would yell at him for going up the stairs with his crutches. But, if he waited, the hunter would be focused and give him a small smile, before gesturing him in, all thoughts of Stiles’ broken leg forgotten. 

He loved the office. It was small, smaller than any of the other rooms in the house. But it was painted a beautiful blue and it had a window that looked out over the woods. He felt free there. He would nap on the far side of the desk curled up on the floor with a soft blanket, feeling safe. 

His phone chimed with a full battery notification. He groaned, rolling over and grabbing it. There was no point on putting this off any longer. It took him a little bit to figure out how to get to the phone call part of the phone. Jesus, phones were complicated now. He dialed the Sheriff’s station, not willing to call his dad’s cell. He didn’t want it in his call logs. 

“Beacon Hill’s Sheriff’s Station, Debbie speaking.”

“Hey Debs.”

“Stiles!” She sounded absolutely thrilled. “How are you? Your dad says you’re living with your soulmates. I couldn’t believe it. You have soulmates. You’re so lucky. Why haven’t you come in? You should bring them in too. Everyone missed you so much, your dad especially. It was so awful when you went missing and now you’re home and it’s so wonderful.”

Debbie’s words were a punch in the gut, but he couldn’t be too upset. She was just like that, no filter. It used to be a thing they had in common. It drove his dad crazy. 

“Yeah, well I actually called to talk to him. Is he busy?”

“For you, of course not. Hold on.”

There was only a moment of horrible hold music before his dad’s voice came on the line. 

“Stiles. Son, are you alright? Why didn’t you call? Do I need to come get you?”

The questions came fast, full of concern. He could practically see his dad pacing the room as he talked. Stiles eyes filled with tears that he refused to let spill over. God, he missed his dad so much. 

“Sorry. I didn’t have a phone and I didn’t want to bother Chris.”

“But you have a phone now? It’s the number you called from?”

Stiles nodded before remembering his dad couldn’t see him. “Yes.”

“And Chris and Peter, they’re treating you alright? You’re OK?”

“Yeah, they are.”

They really had been. He had been there weeks, and nothing bad had happened. Neither one had hurt him in any way. Chris looked at him like he was precious; Peter ignored him. It was actually pretty close to perfect.

“It’s nice here dad.”

“I’m so glad to hear that.” There was a small noise on the phone. Stiles was pretty sure his dad was crying. 

“I should go. I just wanted to tell you I’m fine.”

“Sure, yeah. But Stiles, call more. My cells the same, any time day of night, I’m here.”

“Love you dad.” Stiles spit out, before he could regret it.

There were more noises. He was definitely crying. “Love you too son.”

Stiles hung up the phone and ran a hand over his face, hoping Peter hadn’t been listening in. Calling his dad every other day was going to be exhausting.

“Fuck it.”

He pulled his soft blanket over his legs. He was going to take a nap.

\--------  
The days continued to pass. It was getting warmer outside and Stiles was getting stronger. His cast officially became a light brace. His arm dexterity confined to increase, almost to the point it was before his fall. His physical therapy went from three times a week to just once and somehow, probably because Chris saw how useless the guy was, his psychologist went down to only every other week. He even managed to put on a whopping eight pounds and an inch of height.

But, as the days passed, so did the nights, and the night he was dreading the most was coming up. The full moon. The worst night of the month, the night the wolves became monsters, ruled by the pull of the moon. The night he was never sure he would survive. 

Chris didn’t act any different the day before. Peter didn’t make it home the night before, which wasn’t really unusual. He stayed at the apartment a lot, something Chris clearly didn’t love but was used to. 

Stiles didn’t get much sleep that night, though he knew he would need rest for what was to come. He tossed and turned, waiting to hear the door, for Peter to come home. As soon as the sun was up, he grabbed his comfy blanket and headed to Chris, who was in the kitchen making breakfast.

Chris looked tired too. He made them breakfast that Stiles just picked out. Chris frowned and handed him a protein shake, taking away the nearly full plate.

“You need to start eating properly.” 

Stiles’ stomach twisted at the thought. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. Chris gave him a long look before pressing a hand to his forehead. 

“I’m not sick.”

Chris didn’t push. “Alright. Let’s get to work then. Grab your book.”

They went up to the office. Stiles had, the past few days, very cautiously taken to reading as well as napping while Chris worked. The book selection in his room was marvelous and he was devouring them. So far, Peter hadn’t said anything. Just glanced at him with something that looked like approval when he noticed a title was gone off the shelf. 

Not today though. He pulled his blanket tighter and sat on the floor pressing his back against Chris’ legs, something he had never done before. In fact, Stiles was pretty sure it was the first time he had ever initiated contact. The man seemed surprised, but still didn’t say anything. He just worked quietly, though his hand did occasionally brush Stiles’ hair. 

He had spent plenty of days at the feet of the alphas, worn and bleeding, knees aching from kneeling. This was different. This was comfort. Stiles leaded into the touch and tried not to think too hard. 

It was a long day. His body ached from being on alert and his mind was tired, but he couldn’t relax. He couldn’t let his guard down. He had survived the full moons in the hospital by luck. He couldn’t count on it this time. 

Chris went to bed early, face drawn and a little sad. Stiles stayed up and watched the sun sink down and the moon begin to rise. He clutched the steak knife he had stolen from the kitchen when Chris wasn’t looking. It wouldn’t kill a wolf, but it might slow them down long enough for Chris to save him. If he saved him. 

It was completely dark when he had a though. He pulled out his cell phone. He hadn’t really messed with it much, beside the phone calls to his dad. It still seemed too good to be true. He dialed the familiar number. 

“Debbie speaking.”

“Hey Debs.”

“Stiles!” She was always so happy to hear from him. “I’m so glad you called but your dad is out. He had an emergency all, a wreck up north of town. It was pretty bad.”

“That’s OK.” It wasn’t okay. He really wanted to talk to his dad. He wanted his dad safe at the station, not out on patrol. “Just tell him I called. And that I love him.”

“Honey, you know you can call his cell. He’ll pick up.”

“No, its fine. Just tell him.”

“I will. I promise.” There was a pause. “Stiles are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” He prayed it was true. “I have to go.”

He hung up and resumed his watch of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful comments and kudos! I'm terrible about replying but I appreciate them all. Each one motivates me to write just a little bit faster (and hopefully better).
> 
> That being said, the next few chapters will be up extra slow. Real life got complicated, as it tends to do, and this story took the brunt of it. Hopefully this chapter will get you through until I get the next one done.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles made it through the night without even hearing a howl. Peter never came home. No other wolves tried to take him back either. 

He was clammy and his stomach was rolling by the time the sun rose. It had been a long night. His dad had called him back twice, but he hadn’t picked up. He was too afraid that if he did, he would beg his father to come and get him.

Stiles was beginning to think that he was wrong. Maybe Peter wasn’t a wolf, or at least not an alpha. Maybe he was an omega too. Maybe he was safe at their house....

Stiles shook his head and pealed himself up off the floor where he had spent the night, pressed tight in the corner. It was stupid to think he was safe here. Sure, Chris was kind and wonderful, but Peter was clever, calculated and dangerous. Wolf or not, he couldn’t let his guard down. 

Stiles went to breakfast, more to find Chris than to eat. He wasn’t hungry but he wanted the comfort of his soulmate. He wanted to curl up with his mate and sleep all day.

Chris was in the kitchen, looking as tired as Stiles felt, drinking coffee at the bar and not cooking at all.

“I was thinking cereal for breakfast.”

Stiles grunted, not really caring, as he fell into his chair, wishing he had his blanket as he shivered. He was too tired to go back and get it. Chris turned and saw how pale Stiles’ was, head laying on the table, too tired to lift it. Chris left, an anxious look on his face, and came back with the emergency kit. 

“Chris, I’m fine.” Stiles whined around the plastic of the thermometer that was shoved in his mouth.

“Shush.”

It beeped and to Stiles surprise, his temperature read 102.4. Huh. He really was sick. He figured he was just tired. 

Chris shook his head. “It’s because you don’t eat right.”

They spent the day on the couch. Chris had fetched his soft blanket and they watched old Disney movies, eating canned soup and crackers, napping on and off. Stiles didn’t even mind when Chris fell asleep with his feet on his lap. It could have been nice, if only he didn't feel so awful. 

It was dark when he woke up alone. 

“What’s wrong? He smells sick.” It sounded like Peter’s voice, but it couldn’t be right. This voice was full of concern, bordering on panic.

“He is sick.” That was Chris. So, the other had to be Peter making that low gravely noise Stiles hoped wasn’t a growl. “Relax. It’s just a bug. He’s worn down. The doctor’s said he would probably get sick a lot as he recovers.”

“You can’t know that. We should take him to the ER.”

“Peter.”

There was a definitely growl now. Stiles sat up, heart pounding, debating if he could make a run for the door with how badly the room was swimming. 

“Fine. But I’m calling Talia. If she says go, we go.”

Chris walked back in with a clear soda and handed it to Stiles, sitting back down on the couch close enough to touch shoulders. 

“Peter’s home?" Stiles squeaked, feeling too awful to disguise his fear. 

“Yep.” Chris took a drink of the beer he had brought for himself. “He’s done with the case. He’s a little worried about this bug you have, so go easy on him.”

Stiles didn’t get that. He avoided Peter on principal. He was always easy on him.

Peter came in and sat down on the other side of Chris. “Talia says he’s probably OK.” He looked grumpy at the idea. 

“I’m fine.” Stiles laid back down. He was too tired to be afraid of Peter right now.

Chris looked pleased at the simple statement. Stiles did his best to never actually talk to Peter, so any words at all was an improvement. Peter frowned, facing the TV. The movie ended and Stiles shivered pulling his blanked tighter around himself. He was starting to really feel unwell. His skin hurt and his bones ached. He kinda wanted his dad. Hell, he kinda wanted his mom. He wanted to go home. 

Peter got up, muttering something about food. 

“How about something without forest animals?” Chris asked, grabbing at the remote. 

Stiles nodded, not really caring what was on. He wanted to sleep again, but couldn’t, not with Peter so close.

“Hey they have the new Avengers.” Chris said, scrolling past it on the screen. “Peter’s nephew liked it. Said he thought I might too.”

Chris probably would. He like action movies on principal. “Yeah, I wanted to see the first one, but didn’t get to. Scott and I had plans to see it, but I was taken before we could.”

There was a crash from the kitchen that made Stiles jump and his head throb. Chris frowned in that direction but stayed seated. 

“Let’s watch the first one then.”

They settled back. Stiles allowed himself to continue to lay close to his soulmate. Chris was warm and smelled like leather and steel. 

Stiles only half watched the movie, drifting in and out. Chris kept shooting him concerned looks, like he knew how shitty he was feeling. 

The movie was nearly over by the time Peter came back in. He had three bowls of soup on a tray, but it wasn’t just the canned stuff Chris had heated up earlier. It was actual homemade soup, with fresh chicken and vegetables. There were also crackers, applesauce in little dishes with cinnamon, and peanut butter sandwiches cut into triangles. It was more food than Stiles would have been able to eat even when he was healthy. 

Chris dug into his, as did Peter. Stiles didn’t want to eat, but he reached out and grabbed a sandwich when Chris asked him to try. 

“They taste better cut into triangles.” Stiles said and to his surprise, Peter smiled at him. It was a nice smile. It changed Peter’s face from shrewd to almost affectionate. He managed a few bites before giving up and laying his head on the armrest. He gave a hard shutter and tried not to moan. 

Peter gathered their dishes and took then to the kitchen. Chris put on yet another movie, a comedy this time. Peter came back with a huge blanket that looked suspiciously like the comforter of his and Chris’ bed. 

“Cold?” Chris asked his husband in a teasing tone, as Peter settled the blanket over them, taking care to make sure it covered Stiles as well. Stiles snuggled into it, grateful for the extra warmth.

“Shut up.” 

Stiles let them bicker, and finally drifted off into a fever filed sleep.  
\-----  
It took a few days for Stiles to kick the fever and through it all Peter was strangely attentive. He never hovered like Chris was prone to do, but Stiles would feel Peter’s eyes on him, watching him shiver and shake, too tired to move off the couch. More than once Stiles woke to find the same comforter draped over him, even though he knew Chris took it back to their bedroom every night. 

Peter cooked nearly every night, meals easy to digest and quite frankly amazing. He put both Stiles and Chris’ cooking to shame. 

“Why do you even bother cooking? I mean, if you can eat like this every night.” Stiles asked Chris as they were cleaning up the kitchen. He still felt a little weak, but his fever had broken the night before and he was more than ready to get off the couch.

Chris had that look on his face. The one that said he was annoyed by the sass, but loved the Stiles was the one doing the sassing. He knew Chris counted it as a personal victory, even if Stiles’ psychologist said it was just another way of acting out. 

“He works too much. He wants cooking to be a source of enjoyment for him, for us, so most weeknights, he doesn’t. He would be happy to order out on nights he can’t, but I like cooking too. Even if I’m not as good at it.”

It was odd to think of Peter as having preferences, having chores he enjoyed and chores he didn’t like. He almost seemed human the way Chris was describing him.

“You do just fine baby.”

Suddenly, Peter was just there. Stiles heart jumped as reached on instinct, crouching down and moving in close to Chris’ chest until the top of his head was under Chris’s chin. Chris looked surprised but ran his fingers comfortingly up Stiles’ back. Stiles shuttered, but didn’t move, keeping himself between his soulmate and the wolf.

Peter was tense as he watched Stiles with a calculating look before, rolling his shoulders and settling casually against the counter, arms crossed. The tension was thick in the kitchen as Stiles braced for a fight even as he knees went weak.

“Peter, make some noise when you walk please. You scared us.” Chris sounded mild, but now he had an arm around Stiles waist, holding him up and he was glaring at his husband.

Peter nodded, then walked away, careful to make each footstep audible. Stiles didn’t understand what had happened, but it felt like something had shifted in the air, like it was suddenly easier to breathe. 

“You’re okay.” Chris didn’t let go. “You’re okay.”  
\-------  
Spring was in full swing and he could almost smell summer on its way. He was feeling better and better. His leg brace came off and his physical therapist only had a few more sessions before he was free. He stopped throwing up his food and as long as he ate slow, his stomach hardly even hurt. He could walk further and further and slept less. 

It wasn’t all good. He wasn’t sleeping so heavily, which meant he dreamed more. They were always filled with blood and pain and he always woke up terrified. He was still afraid for his father and missed him terribly. Occasionally he would think about going home to his dad, but his fingers would trace his scars and he would remember why he couldn’t. He still flinched at loud noises and nothing on earth would convince him to be alone with Peter, though he was almost certain he was an omega now. But, as his therapist said, baby steps. 

He and Chris took advantage of his improving health. Chris took him out to the woods almost daily. Turns out, he and Peter owned a ridiculous amount of property. Chris showed him the trails the deer cut through it, the places the bunnies burrowed, and creek were a pair of beavers had made a damn, eyes bright, almost proud as they explored. 

Chris got this look about him, when he was in the woods. A look that Stiles liked. Like he had spent days and days running and he was finally getting a chance to rest. He seemed to feel at peace among the trees.

Stiles had never been an outdoor sort of guy. He had been more of a video game, comic book, occasional organized sport sort of guy. And the alphas never let him out, if they didn’t need him to run something.

But it was nice, under the trees with the cool breeze blowing and his soulmate by his side. It felt fresh, like maybe he could start over. Maybe he could be who he wanted to be-not who they made him.

He watched Chris patiently explain how to track a deer by the damage it left in the foliage and felt his heart swell. 

He was going to try.  
\----  
It started with a notebook. A spiral bound one with thick lines, like a middle school student would use. But this one had Captain America on it. And it was sitting on his bed. 

Stiles heart pounded as he looked at it, wondering what the trap was. He checked the room first, then the hall. No one was there to sneak up on him while he was looking at the notebook. He picked it up gingerly, by the edges only. It was blank and there was no note. He put it back down.

He left it on his bed for three days, sleeping curled up in his corner where it was safe, but no one ever came. The notebook never moved. 

It was just the beginning. Next came Spiderman pens. Then a Thor hoodie. An Iron Man set of socks that were amazing. A Black Widow sticker for his phone case. Not every day, not with any patter he could figure out, but often enough that he developed quite a collection.

He left them all in a careful pile on the bed untouched, though he couldn’t resist holding the hoodie up to his face to see if it felt as soft as it looked. 

There were only two people who could be leaving the gifts. Peter or Chris. Unless his dad was sneaking in. And he doubted that. From their conversations on the phone, John was quite busy back in Beacon Hills. Some sort of new drug on the streets causing all kinds of violence. Stiles didn’t want to know any details.

It didn’t make sense for it to be Peter. He didn’t even like Stiles, though his disdain seemed to have faded to a sort of begrudging acceptance. Peter never touched him, never ran his fingers along his back, never pulled him close. Peter only ever did that to Chris. Not that Stiles cared. He was fine not being touched by Peter. 

Chris made a little more sense. Stiles and Chris at least had a relationship. They talked and hung out together and once Stiles had even cracked a joke that made Chris laugh, head thrown back and eyes sparkling. Stiles even let Chris touch him. Sometimes. A little bit. When they were out walking and Stiles stumbled, he didn’t pull away when Chris steadied him. When Chris needed to show him something, he was allowed to tap his shoulder. It had to be Chris. 

He just didn’t know how. Stiles didn’t spend much time in his room so it wouldn’t be hard to get in. But he generally followed Chris around like a puppy. Seriously, Stiles wasn’t sure how the hunter could stand it. He wouldn’t be able to leave the gifts unnoticed. Hell, he wouldn’t have time to go out and buy them considering Stiles insisted on going with him to the store, hand grabbing at the back of Chris’ shirt and eyes down and avoiding everyone, ignoring the prickly feeling on his neck he always had when they were out. 

Stiles tried not to think too much about it. He read, he cooked, he exercised, and he planned his escape, even though his stomach twisted when he thought about running again.

He was healthy enough now. He could walk fine and even run a little bit, though he had a limp when he got tired. He had no money, still, but he had his phone. He could probably sell it and get enough for a bus ticket to the east coast. He would figure something out from there. New York seemed like a good place to start again.

He wondered if Chris would miss him.  
\-----  
Another full moon passed the exact same as the one before. Stiles stayed up all night with his knife. Peter didn’t come home, and no one attacked. 

It was the weekend after the full moon everything went to shit. 

Stiles tried his best to give Peter and Chris their space on the weekends. He knew it was hard on them and their “private time” with him here. And he wanted nothing to do with their alone time. He had convinced Chris to let him use his office without him so they could have downstairs to themselves. He read all day, not even coming down to eat, because Chris brought him up lunch. 

They ate supper like a normal family, just three soulmates sitting at a table while the married couple made loving faces at each other and the damaged third wheel sat and tried to eat slow enough that he didn’t gag. 

He cleaned up the kitchen, telling Chris to go cuddle up with Peter on the couch. It was a sign of who much they missed each other that the hunter didn’t argue. He listened to them talk in low voiced and tried to ignore the sinking in his stomach that felt like loneliness. 

He went to his room after he cleaned up, Peter and Chris following after him to their own bedroom. He was tired and ready for bed. Well, floor. He found he slept much more soundly curled up in the corner with his soft blanket. Plus, he never had to make the bed or move the pile of gifts off of it. 

He was in his sleep pants, teeth brushed and everything when he saw there was a new gift on the pile. 

Only this one wasn’t a pair of socks or a cheap plastic pen. It was every single Marvel movie that had been made so far on DVD. Stiles had only seen that first one, the original Avengers, when he had been sick. Now, he could catch up. He could see what he had missed, all the things he and Scott had talked about on the way to work for weeks, when the world figured out how exciting the Marvel series would be. 

This wasn’t a small gift or a cheap one. It wasn’t easily brushed aside and forgotten. This was a big deal. 

Stiles hands were shaking as he held the DVD’s. He didn’t understand. Why would Chris get him these?

Why would he get him any of this stuff? In one quick movement, Stiles threw the pile of superhero themed gifts on to the ground. It wasn’t satisfying. They were too light and nothing crashed or broke. But Stiles hesitated to damage anything in the room. Nothing else was his. It was all Peter and Chris’. He fell to his knees, hands in his too long hair, pulling and rocking. 

Stiles couldn’t breathe. It felt like a trick. This had to be a trick. Chris was trying to win him over. Trying to get him to let his guard down and then Chris would strike. He would be dead in the ground before he even knew what hit him. 

No. Anger came up over the mind-numbing fear. No, he wasn’t going to be the victim this time. He survived before and he would again. And he wasn’t going to wait in fear for it to happen this time.

He stood, hands still shaking and wrapped around the DVDs and stormed out of the room down the hall to Peter and Chris bedroom. He knocked once but didn’t even wait for the “come in” before he opened the door.

They weren’t in any sort of compromising position. Peter was sitting up, working on his laptop. Chris was curled up on his side, facing away from the door, his bedside lamp off.

He blinked blearily at Stiles as the door slammed into the door stopper and belatedly, Stiles realized he had been asleep. That Peter was the one who said to come in.

Peter had stopped typing, face mildly amused. “Well, this is a surprise. What can we do for you?”

Stiles ignored him and his stupid smile. “What the fuck is this?” He asked, holding out the movies and talking only to Chris. 

Chris sat up and turned on his light. He took the DVD’s and looked at them, confusion written on his face. “Stiles where do you get these?”

“Where did I get them? They were on my fucking bed. Like all the other things were.”

“Other things? Stiles what are you talking about?” Chris seemed a little worried now, voice low and calm like he was talking to a scared animal. 

Stiles sputtered, too angry to think of words.

“Just so we are clear” Peter asked, typing again and face blank “Was it the actual gift you are objecting to, or the idea of a gift?”

“What? The gift or the what? Both!”

“Ah. Noted. Won’t happen again. You can skip back along to bed now.” Peter wouldn’t look at Stiles. Stiles couldn’t stop staring at him. Chris was staring too.

“Peter did you buy him these?”

“Yes.” Chris looked outraged at the admittance, but Peter rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t have anything personal in this whole house. His bedroom isn’t even a room. It’s still a library and not one thing in there is his. Even his clothes are impersonal. He clearly like the movie when we watched it the other day and when I asked his dad, apparently superhero is his style, or at least it was. So, I got him some things.”

The realization that it was Peter made Stiles furious. “How dare you? Do you think you can bribe me? Give me pretty little things that will make me fall for you? Get me into your bed? I’m never going to kneel in front of you. I’m never going to roll under you without a word. You want me? You’ll have to drag me, kicking and screaming and bleeding. I didn’t make it easy for Duke and I won’t for you. Fuck you. FUCK YOU!”

Stiles was screaming louder than he ever had. He could feel his face burn as spit flew from his lips with every word. His chest was heaving, unused to this kind of punishment. 

Chris was standing now though Stiles didn’t see him make the move. Peter was still in bed, but his laptop was gone to and the man was looking at him hard, calculating. Stiles knew he could be on him in an instant. That he should fall to his knees and beg forgiveness. 

“Fuck you. Fuck you both.” 

“Stiles, I know your scared right now but it’s okay. It’s alright. No one here is going to hurt you.” Chris’ voice was carefully calm as he took a step towards Stiles. He took a step back towards the wall.

“I’m not scared. I’m not.” He wasn’t. Not anymore. He had been scared a long time, but he wasn’t living like that anymore. “I’m angry. I’m furious.”

Everyone treated him like he was fragile, easily broken and fearful, ducking away from blows. He wasn’t. He was rage, waiting on a chance to strike.

“I hate you.” Chris flinched back but Stiles couldn’t stop. “I hate that you saved me. I hate that you were there to watch me struggle. I hate how kind you are, how you pay attention to me, how you won’t let me do any work that you wouldn’t do. I hate it in this house, with all its security and fake safety. It’s too easily to let my guard down. And I can’t. Because it’s not safe. It’s not. I can’t let them have me again. I won’t.”

“Who’s coming for you?” Peter’s voice was closer than Stiles expected and ever so sly. He had moved while Stiles had been focused on Chris and now was only feet away, eyes gleaming almost blue in the dark. “Who are you so afraid of?”

Stiles didn’t want to look at his eyes. He didn’t want to see if they flashed. “I’m never telling.” 

“Alright.” Peter’s body language changed from calculating to almost bored, arms down by his sides and head cocked slightly. “I’m sorry.”

That threw Stiles and he took a few deep breathes while he tried to center himself. He hadn’t heard Peter apologize before, not even to Chris. He was an ass like that. 

“I didn’t know the gifts would upset you this much. I thought I was giving you a few personal things, things you would like. I was trying to make the library feel like yours. So, you might want to stay. So you might not want to run as soon as you could.”

Peter shot Chris a look as Stiles’ eyes darted back and forth. Apparently, his escape plans hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he hoped. It didn’t matter. He could still go. He could go now, right now. 

Peter took a quick large step forward and Stiles frantically backed away, not caring he was moving towards Chris. 

“Don’t touch me.”

“Stiles I will never hurt you. I wouldn’t never touch you in anyway without permission. I’m not like them. We aren’t like them. You’re our soulmate. We want you to be happy.”Chris kept walking evenly towards Stiles as he spoke. Stiles collapsed on the floor, shaking all over with tears running down his face. 

“Please.” He whispered, as Chris arms wrapped gently around him. They tightened as he began to scream and thrash in rage and in agony as the years of abuse and pain were let out.

“It’s okay.” Chris murmured voice worried and tight, arms constricting now, to stop Stiles from flailing and hurting himself as he was trying to do. “You’re alright. Stop Stiles. You’re going to hurt yourself. Calm down.”

“Breathe sweetheart.” Peter was kneeling beside them, not touching but hands hovering, blue eyes fixed on Stiles’ face. “Breathe.”

Stiles couldn’t breathe. He heard them whispering thing about calling his dad, about calling an ambulance. He couldn’t tell them not to. He could only howl his pain up to the moon and prayed she would bare witness like she had all the times before until darkness came and he fell into it.


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles sat at the table eating rather soggy cereal and watching his soulmates through new eyes. Chris was eating, reading over some new numbers one of his buyers had sent him the night before. Peter was drinking coffee, idly doing the crossword, occasionally stopping to rub his hand over Chris'.

It should have felt awkward. Stiles had woken up in his own bed after his little breakdown, throat sore and body bruised, but no one had ever said anything. No one yelled or hit him. Nothing really changed. 

Except now he didn’t have to talk to his psychologist anymore. Apparently, Peter had called him after Stiles breakdown and fired the man. Said he was useless and stupid. Stiles liked Peter just a little bit more now.

Everything in his conditioning said he should be groveling at Peter and Chris feet for daring to yell at them. That he should be horrified and embarrassed by his behavior. That he should be punished. That he deserved to be punished.

But he didn’t. He didn’t feel any of that. 

He felt free. He had screamed, he had yelled, he had threatened and told his soulmates off. And nothing bad had happened. Peter hadn’t attacked, even though Stiles had been at his most vulnerable. Chris hadn’t abandoned him. 

For the first time, Stiles thought he might not have to run. He might be alright staying here. 

Peter dumped the rest of his coffee in the sink and kissed Chris on the cheek. “I’m off love.”

Chris grunted his goodbye, too fixated to even look up. Peter just smiled, then grabbed his things, intentionally walking so close beside Stiles that he could feel the fabric of Peter’s suit brush his arm. 

Peter had started doing that. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was inversion therapy or some sort of possessive wolf issue, but he didn’t mind. He would be okay if Peter wanted to touch him. As long as he was prepared. He could handle it. Probably. 

Because, it seemed that Peter did care after all. He showed it differently than Chris, with gifts and distance instead of kindness and closeness but he cared, at least a little bit.  
Chris looked over at Stiles, who was stirring his cereal instead of eating it.

“Do you want to go back to bed?”

Stiles shook his head and Chris ran a hand over his face in a way that reminded Stiles a little too much like his father. He should call him. He knew Chris had told him about the breakdown, he had heard them on the phone. He should reassure his dad he was alright but instead he asked, “Can we go to your office?”

Chris smiled and things were back to normal. 

\-----  
There were no more new gifts. Instead, a few days later, a hesitant Chris offered Stiles his credit card. 

“I’m not good at knowing what people need without being told.” Chris apologized. “Peter pretty much tells me when he needs something. Usually after he takes care of it.”

Stiles looked at the card like it might bite him. “I don’t need anything.”

Chris patted the spot on the couch next to him. Stiles sat obediently as Chris turned to face him. 

“It’s not about needing something. It’s about what you want. We want you to be happy and comfortable here. So, make your space yours. Whatever you want.”

It had been a long time since Stiles had thought about what he wanted. He thought for a long moment. None of it was stuff that Chris could buy.

He wanted the past four years to have never happened. He wanted to go home. He wanted his dad to hold him tight. He wanted to be the person he used to be. The person who laughed and joked, who liked comics and movies, who played lacrosse just terribly but did it anyway because his best friend did. 

But none of that was going to happen. 

“I don’t know what I want.”

“That’s okay. Just take the card. It’s in my name, but I got it for you to keep. You can browse until you find some things you like. Maybe start with the clothes and go from there.”

Stiles took a breath to calm his pounding heart. “Chris I really don’t want to go shopping. Going to Beacon Hills is awful. I hate it. I feel like I’m being watched the whole time.”

“Yeah, I can tell you don’t like it. Last time we went to the grocery store you walked on my heels the whole time.”

He sounded like he was mad, but the hunter was smiling and gently nudged Stiles shoulder with his own. 

“You can shop online. Ship things here.”

“What?” Stiles hadn’t been living in a bubble for that long. He knew online shopping was a thing. He just didn’t know that it was a luxury Chris and Peter would allow. 

“Yeah. Here,” Chris grabbed Stiles’ phone from the coffee table. “Just click on this icon here. It takes you to the internet and you can search for whatever. When you find something you want to buy, get it.”

“I know what the internet is Christopher.” He did. He just didn’t know his phone had it. His old one hadn’t had the capability. 

They sat on the couch for a bit, while Stiles marveled at the wonder of a smart phone. “Oh my God, I love this.”

Chris laughed, open and honestly, the way he did with Peter and that alone made Stiles smile. 

\------  
Stiles’ phone quickly became his favorite thing. It could do so many things. He could shop or play games or research anything he wanted on the internet. It was almost magical. He loved it. 

He researched Peter and Chris. Everything published seemed to be about their professional careers, Peter more than Chris, though there was a short wedding announcement with no picture of the grooms. He looked up his own disappearance, clinically searching for any truth in any of the articles. There wasn’t. He looked up his old classmates. He caught up on all the news he had missed, good and bad. He discovered new memes and gifs. The internet was a wonderful place.

The only thing he didn’t do was contact any of his old friends. His social medial profiles were all still there, still active even, but after he logged on, he couldn’t make himself post anything. He stared at Scott’s profile, but he didn’t click on it. 

Scott knew he was alive. His dad had told him right after he was certain that Stiles would survive his injuries. But Sheriff had asked Scott and everyone else to give Stiles space to recover. And Scott had.

Stiles wasn’t sure he was recovered enough to talk to his best friend. He missed him. He missed Scott so bad. He missed Scott’s goofy smile, relentlessly optimistic attitude and the way Stiles could be himself with him without having to hide. Stiles had thought about Scott all the time, especially in the beginning when he thought he might still get free. 

But after a while, he had started to hate him. Hated how Scott was home, safe and sound, while he was being used. Eventually it was better not to think of him at all.

He wondered if Scott missed him too.

He closed the app, hands shaking. There was always tomorrow. He rolled over on the bed, trying to think of anything other than the people he had left behind. 

He was still sleeping in the library. Chris and Peter had offered him an upstairs bedroom as soon as his walking brace had come off, but he like being downstairs with them. He still couldn’t sleep in the bed, preferring his pile of blankets in the corner, but he used it as a comfortable place to surf the web.

He hadn’t bought anything with the credit card either. He wasn’t ready. Though he was eyeing a comfortable looking blanket that happened to have Iron Man on it. He would have to ask Chris what he thought. 

A large crash outside had Stiles jumping off the bed and to the door before he could decide if going towards the loud noise was a good idea. He stopped at the door frame, unsure. 

Chris was the only other person home. At least, he should have been. Peter had left for work several hours ago, and he wouldn’t be home tonight at all. Tomorrow was one of his court days. 

Another crash followed and Stiles ran out to the back deck towards the noise, ignoring his instincts that said to run and hide. Chris might need him. 

What he found wasn’t Chris under attack and bleeding out, like he was afraid he might find. Instead, he found was his soulmate and another man pulling up part of the deck. Stiles stopped, confused. 

"Chris?"

The hunter put down the black tarp down with a thud and dusted off his hands. 

“Finally decided to come out in the sun?”

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, and it was finally warm enough to go without a jacket, though Stiles still wore a flannel over his t-shirt to hid his scars. Summer was edging out spring. Chris was in his element, shirt off and muscles rippling as he lifted and moved the decking, but Stiles was distracted by the stranger. He didn’t like strangers. Chris and Peter never brought anyone over. 

Stiles debated going back inside and hiding somewhere, but he hesitated, curious. He couldn’t take his eyes of the strange man. He was younger, closer to his age than Peter’s and dark haired with a rather grouchy face. He looked like a murder. He was probably a murder. “Chris what’s going on?”

Chris huffed at the interruption, then caught sight of Stiles panicked expression and looked chastised. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. This is Derek, Peter’s nephew.”

Knowing he was related to Peter didn’t really make him feel better. Stiles muttered a hello, to which Derek just grunted as he continued working. Stiles watched them for a bit, before his curiosity won out over his fear that there might be another werewolf in his yard. Besides, Chris was here. He would protect him. 

“What are you doing? Why are you tearing up the deck?”

“We aren’t tearing up the deck. We’re getting the cover of the pool so I can get it ready before it gets too warm.”

The mention of a pool intrigued Stiles. He hadn’t paid much attention to this part of the house before, but sure enough, part of the deck was in fact, not deck but pool. He had always wanted one growing up, but his dad said they were too much work. He moved closer to the mess the other two were making. 

It was a nice pool, concrete and deep as well as long. It would be good for swimming laps. He wondered if he could convince Chris to put in a diving board.

He took another step forward to look at the murky green water when he felt Chris’s hand twist the back of his shirt, stopping him short. 

“Chris.” He complained, pulling free only to have the hunter follow him the step he took to escape. 

Chris wrapped his arm around Stiles’ shoulder, and when he glanced up, there was worry in Chris’ face.

“I should have asked.” Chris’ voice was soft and sweet in his ear. “Are you going to be okay with this here?”

“I know how to swim. I was good actually. I was supposed to be a lifeguard once, but it didn’t work out.” Because he had been kidnapped before that summer had started. He hadn’t swum since.

“Good.” 

Chris still sounded wrong. Stiles looked up at his face, confused by the lines there.

“What?”

Chris sighed. “Are you sure you’re okay to be near water?”

Realization hit him. “Oh, you mean because I jumped into a pit full of water and technically drown. Yeah, I’m good. I’m no longer so desperate to escape my life that I would attempt it again.”

Chris reeled back like Stiles had slapped him, letting his arm drop off Stiles. Stiles winced as well, regretting the flamboyancy of his tone. 

“I promise Chris. It was never about the proximity of the water. It was about being caught. They aren’t going to catch me here.” Probably. “It’s fine.”

“Good.” Chris sounded better this time. He didn’t ask who “they” were. Both Peter and Chris continued let him hedge around his kidnapping without question, even after the panic attack. Chris in particularly never said anything about his strange habits and general twitchiness. His soulmate treated him like a normal person, only moments like this reminding Stiles that Chris knew exactly how broken he was. “We are about done here. I’ll go get the water testing kit so Derek can go and get us whatever chemicals it needs.”

Chris walked off towards the garage. Stiles turned to Derek, who was watching him with something that looked like pity in his eyes.

Stiles hated pity. He bared his dull human teeth at him, a threatening gesture that he had no way of backing up. 

To his surprise, Derek smiled, and all traces of pity melted of his face. He nodded at Stiles, like he had passed some kind of test and finished rolling up the cover, completely ignoring Stiles the rest of the day. 

\------  
Stiles loved the pool. He absolutely loved it. 

Chris wouldn’t let him swim that day, even after he and Derek had cleaned it and adjusted the chemical levels. The water was still too cold, and Chris wouldn’t let Stiles get in, claiming he wasn’t in full health and it could make him sick again.

Derek left, shaking off Chris’ offer to stay for dinner. Apparently he wasn't particularly talkative or friendly, but, according to Chris, was good with his hands. Stiles almost wished he had stayed, if only to have someone else there who was as awkward as he. 

Chris got out these amazing beach chairs and Stiles took up residence in the comfortable cushions, soaking up sun and relaxing. He made up some lemonade and it was sitting beside him, the moisture from the glass running down its sides.

Chris ignored the cool water and jumped in anyway and was swimming in the afternoon sun, water trailing of his muscles as he effortless cut through the water. Stiles enjoyed watching him. It made something warm pool in his stomach, and he twitched. 

Stiles dozed in the sun, slightly too warm with his flannel button up shirt on, but unwilling to take it off. He had scars, lots of scars and he didn’t want Chris to see them. They were having fun. He didn’t want to be a reminder of the past. 

He woke to a splash of water hitting his legs. He sputtered and jerked upright then grinned when he saw it was only Chris, shaking his head like a dog and getting water everywhere. 

“No, bad boy, no.” Stiles scolded, then blushed at how dirty the phrase sounded. He meant for it to sound like he was yelling at a dog.

Chris only laughed, then held out his hand to pull Stiles out of the chair. They went inside and began to make supper. 

\------  
Peter had been excited when Chris told him over dinner that he had opened up the pool.

“It’s early this year.”

“Yeah, but it’s been a warm spring. Besides the heater already has the water temperature to nearly 85.”

“I bet you swimming in it brought it up a few degrees. I look forward to seeing you in the water.” Peter winked them smirked. 

Stiles choked on his drink and sputtered, as Chris stared lustily as his husband.

Fuck, he could cut the sexual tension with a knife. He excused himself before Peter tongue was down Chris’ throat, but his hand was already on the hunter’s ass.

Peter and Chris seemed to be happier, in generally and with each other. Stiles breakdown seemed to be some sort of tipping point for the couple, like they were ChrisandPeter instead of Chris and Peter. They were a lot more physical with each other, always touching each other, though they bickered like crazy. To Stiles’ surprise, Peter was the more affectionate one, always kissing and running his hand over Chris’s, and moments like the one he just fled were more and more common. 

It should have made Stiles uncomfortable, the constant sexual overtones but instead, he felt safe, like a child with parents who clearly loved each other. They were never, gross, just passionate, and if anything, it only made Stiles feel a little bit lonely.

Because he would never have that. Sure he had soulmate and he knew Chris liked him and Peter seemed to slowly be warming to him as well. But, love or hell, even lust, he wouldn’t be capable of that.

He had tried, the other night thinking about how amazing Chris had looked shirtless and swimming. He had pulled and stroked, but his cock laid limp in his hand. It was just another thing the alphas had taken away. 

That why he was so shocked when Chris kissed him.

They had been in the office all day. Chris was frustrated, typing in his computer. His arms deal was rapidly falling apart, despite the many, many hours he had put into it. 

Stiles had read until he got bored, then played a few games on his phone. He had recently discovered apps and he had downloaded like six different games. Eventually, he had tired of those as well. 

He stood and walked around the desk to touch Chris arm to get his attention. “Hey, I’m going to make us some sandwiches for lunch, alright?”

Chris grunted his approval, and Stiles wandered downstairs to made two ham sandwiches with Swiss cheese, complete with sliced apples and carrot sticks. Healthy and delicious.

“Here,” he said, leaning down to put the plate down by Chris’ laptop. 

“Thanks.” Chris turned right as Stiles leaned in and brushed his lips against Stiles. 

It was the definition of chaise, but Stiles still jerked away in surprise, nearly tripping over his own feet as he backed away, dropping the plate on the floor as his hands flew to his face.

“Fuck.” Chris was on his feet, hands out. “I’m sorry, Stiles. I wasn’t thinking. Shit.”

Stiles let his fingers trace his lips. He could almost feel Chris still there, his beard scratching at his chin. He trembled as he gasped.

“Shit. Shit! Come on Stiles. Breathe. You need to breathe.”

He didn’t know he wasn’t. He inhaled deeply, then pushed the air back out.

“It’s alright. Try not to panic. It’s alright. I won’t do it again. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Stiles wasn’t panicking. He was shaking, but it wasn’t panic, only shock. Chris clearly was panicking thought, eyes darting and face pale. Stiles felt bad. He wanted to say something to calm his soulmate, but he couldn’t make his mouth form words.

Stiles felt dazed and it was only when he felt that way that he realized how strange the feeling was. He wasn’t numb and detached anymore. In the past few weeks he had been feeling so much. So many good and bad things, emotions pulling out of him like molasses, slow and sticky. 

“Say something Stiles, please. Do you need your dad? Should I call your dad? Peter?”

“No.” It came out brittle. He took another deep breath. “No, I’m alright.” 

Chris still looked terrified. 

“Chris, I’m fine. You surprised me, is all.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Stiles was surprised by his own boldness. “It was a nice kiss. You’re good at it. It felt nice, like you cared about me.”

A beat passed and Stiles continued to calm his breathing until he wasn’t gasping at all. Once he was quiet, Chris crossed the room and put his hand cautiously on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“I do care about you. Very much.” 

The hunter’s eyes were so blue and clear, honest and open. Stiles was mesmerized. 

“Stiles I’ve completely fallen for you.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathed, incapable of saying anything else.

“Stiles, I love you. Whole, completely, in every way.”

Stiles stammered out incoherent sounds and Chris smiled softly.

“You don’t need to say it back. It’s okay if you never do. I want you to know that I do. That’s all that’s important to me.”

“I need to sit.”

Chris led him over to his desk chair and helped him put his head between his legs, rubbing comforting circles on Stiles’ back until the room was no longer spinning. Then Chris knelt down so he could look in Stiles’ eyes.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way. I don’t want anything from you, sexually or otherwise. I know you’ve been through a lot and you’re always scared. And I don’t always show it, I don’t know how to show it, but I know it’s hard for you. I don’t want you to be scared of me, or Peter.” 

Stiles winched. He wasn’t been exactly talkative about his experiences while kidnapped, but he knew Chris and Peter had figured some parts out. The physical aspects had been seen on his X-ray’s at the hospital that showed the numerous broken bones, most healed, some not. Between the not touching and the never taking his shirt of, plus the screaming at Peter during his breakdown, the sexual abuse was pretty clear too.

“I’ll be more careful. I’ll give you space. I won’t kiss you again, unless explicitly you ask for it. I promise, you are safe here. Just please don’t leave. Please.”

“I know I am.” He knew that Chris would never hurt him. Chris had saved him, from the pit but also from the crushing fear or recapture that came after, the fear that threatened to pull him under again and again. Stiles had no doubt that if he had gone home with his dad, he would have killed himself. 

“Good.” Chris smiled, crinkling the lines around his eyes. “Good. Want to go downstairs and eat? I’ll make you a new sandwich and we can put on a movie or something. Pretend this never happened?”

Stiles wasn’t done with this moment. Because he wasn’t happy going back to how it was. Not now that he knew Chris loved him. “Can we do other things?”

“What?” Chris’ eyes went dark and Stiles frantically back pedaled.

“Not like that. Not that. But hand holding and running your hand down my back. Maybe a hug. I see you and Peter do it and I-” Stiles took yet another calming breath. “I want that too.”

Chris’ lip trembled, but no tears fell. “Of course, Stiles.”

Ever so carefully, Chris pulled his soulmate in to his arms, holding him there. For the first time in years, Stiles felt completely safe.


	8. Chapter 8

They started off slow. Instead of just sitting side by side on the couch to watch a movie, Chris would lay his hand on Stiles thigh and let it rest there. When they ate lunch together in the kitchen, Chris would let his hand glide over Stiles’. When they crossed in the hall or walked in the woods, he kept his hand on the small of Stiles’ back.

He was careful, always making sure Stiles could brush him off if he wanted, but very seldom did Stiles want to. It was easier, mentally, for Stiles to let Chris take control, to let the lead, to be shown affection, rather than give it out. It was a reminder of his old life, when his father used to hug him, and Scott used to sit close while they played video games. It was nice. Only occasionally, after a night plagued with nightmares that left him numb and shaking did he not want Chris to be touching him. 

Stiles favorite part was Chris’ hugs. After Peter had headed off to bed, or at least pretended to in order to give them privacy, and Stiles had showered and put on his PJ’s, he would wait outside his bedroom door. Chris would show up, smiling and eyes shining. 

“Can I hug you?”

Stiles would nod, or mumble yes and Chris would wrap him up in his strong arms. He never squeezed tight or held on too long, but damn, Stiles never felt safer than when he was wrapped up in his soulmate. 

Peter noticed the change between them, of course. The wolf had been watching him since day one, but now instead of annoyance, there something soft and pure in his eyes. Something that made Stiles want to bare his neck, not out of fear, but out of reverence. Peter never pushed though, never initiated any touching. He only watched.

Stiles wondered what it would be like to touch Peter. If his hands would be strong and safe, like Chris’, or hard and cruel like so many others. 

He thought they might be soft and careful. They might hold him like he was fragile and precious. 

He was starting to want to find out. The more time he spent with Peter, the less afraid he was. Peter was so different than Chris. He had a biting wit and sharp tongue, all hard edges and corners. But he also made Stiles favorite foods without any prompting even when Chris didn’t like them. He brought cookies and cupcakes home for just for Stiles, because Chris didn’t have much of a sweet tooth. He asked what Stiles wanted to watch on the TV, when Chris inevitable feel asleep on the couch.

Stiles reciprocated the best he could with Chris. He held his soulmates’ hand when they were in the car on the way to the store. He drew circles on Chris leg when they were in his office. He did his best to never flinch away, even when the hunter accidentally snuck up on him.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch Peter. There was still too much uncertainty there. But he did try to spend more time with him, tried not to flinch when Peter moved to fast or got too close. It was the best he could do.

For the most part, their touch therapy worked. Stiles felt more and more relaxed and less like he was a string getting ready to snap. He felt good and that in itself was amazing.

\-----  
It was a regular night at home. Chris was watching a baseball game. Stiles was sitting pressed up beside him, half watching and half dozing. They had spent most of the day in the woods. Chris was teaching him edible plants and basic survival skills. It was difficult, but learning it made Stiles feel better about his chances of survival, if he had to run. 

Peter was on Chris other side, working on his laptop, though his eyes flickered to the TV when a particularly good play was made. 

There was the chime of a phone going off. Peter huffed at the interruption. 

“What? It’s not mine.” Chris said.

“It sounds like yours Peter.” Stiles teased every so cautiously.

Chris shot him a smile as Peter pulled out his phone, which was in fact, ringing. Peter’s face went from annoyed to worried as he read the screen and answered the call. 

“Nora? Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

Stiles had never heard Peter’s voice so kind. Stiles stomach twisted with something that might have been affection as he watched Peter walk away towards the bedroom for some privacy. 

He shouldn’t ask. It was none of his business. 

“Who’s Nora?”

Chris’s gaze was back on the TV. “Oh, it’s his youngest niece.”

“Oh.” Stiles picked at the seam of the couch. He knew that Peter had at least a sister and a nephew. “Does he have a lot of family? You said Derek was his nephew.”

“Yeah, kinda. He only has his mom left and she travels a lot and only one sister. But she has five kids, plus their umm friends and stuff, so it adds up. They are all really close.”

“Oh. I haven’t met any of them.”

Chris shot him a look. “You met Derek and seemed a little nervous. Peter and I though we would wait until you were more comfortable before anyone else came over.”

A thought hit Stiles so hard it almost hurt. “They used to come over here. Stay the night? That’s why you have all the guest rooms and the huge dinning room table. For Peter’s family.”

“Yes, they used to come over quite a bit. Like I said, their family is close. Our family, really.”

“But Peter misses them right? He wouldn’t talk to her like that if he didn’t love her. He misses her. But he can’t see her because of me. He can’t see any of them.”

Chris turned off the TV and grabbed Stiles hand, squeezing it gently. 

“Stiles. None of the choices Peter or I make are your fault. Peter cares about you and doesn’t want to overwhelm you. That’s why his family doesn’t come over here. But I promise you, he still sees them. He goes over there at least once a week. His nieces and nephews aren’t children. Everyone understands why they don’t stay over right now.”

Stiles took a deep breath and tried keep his anxiety from bubbling over. He didn’t know why this was hitting him so hard. “What about your family? Don’t you want to see them?”

Chris stiffened and Stiles worried he had wandered into dangerous territory. 

“I’m sorry. Don’t answer. It’s none of my business.”

“No,” Chris sighed. “You should know.”

It was a long moment before Chris continued. “My mother died a long time ago. My sister died a few years back as well, because of her own hate and stupidity. I don’t know where my father is and I don’t really care. He’s dead to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Stiles throat was tight around the words. “My mom died too.”

Chris didn’t say anything. He just wrapped his arms around Stiles and held on as they both though of long dead families. 

\-------  
Stiles couldn’t get his dad out of his head. Ever since his conversation with Chris about his dead family, Stiles’ own family was stuck in his mind. 

He missed his dad so much it hurt. He missed cooking for him and sitting on the couch with him watching TV after homework. Going fishing on the weekends and scaring off all the fish because he couldn’t stop talking. His dad coming to as many lacrosse games as he could, even though Stiles just sat on the bench. 

Stiles had been talking to his dad more. He still wouldn't call his dad’s cell but he had figured out John’s schedule. He was on seven day shifts, then seven nights, then seven off. Which meant he could call anytime his dad was on shift. Usually he tried to call in towards the end of the day, so he knew his dad had survived another shift. 

Their conversations had been getting better too. Less awkward silences and listening to his dad try not to cry. Most recently, Stiles had been treating his dad to a play by play of all the pop culture he had missed over the last four years. And it was a lot, hours and hours worth. But the Sheriff didn’t seem to mind. He enjoyed listening to Stiles ramble again, if his replies for Stiles to keep talking were anything to go by. 

So far, Stiles had made his dad laugh four times. Three more, and he would have made him laugh more than he made him cry. 

He couldn’t call him now though. He was off for another four days and Stiles couldn’t call him at home. He wouldn't. 

He wasn’t about to lead the alphas right to his father by showing them how much he still cared for the Sheriff. He wasn’t a perfect son, but he was better than that.

\------  
The next four days had Stiles distracted and restless. He knocked over glasses, dropped books, and consistently ran into the dining room door frame. 

Chris tried to take him into the woods, but it was pointless. Stiles couldn’t stop making noise. If he paid attention to walking silently, he found himself chattering constantly. If he focused on not talking, he walked like a flat-footed sailor who just got on leave. He scared away all the animals and wrecked any signs and trails they left behind. 

Chris ran a hand over his face and suggested they find other activities. Stiles felt bad. He only liked the woods when Chris was happy and calm in it and right now, he was trying to take deep breathes and not yell at Stiles. 

Stiles wasn’t much better inside. Chris was busy, making business calls and sending emails, negotiating prices for several different types of weapons. Stiles tried to stay quiet in the office, but his leg kept jiggling and his fingers kept tapping, as he struggled to stay interested in the book he was reading. 

“Stiles! What is wrong with you?” Chris finally barked, when Stiles bouncing leg hit the corner of his desk, nearly knocking a water glass on Chris laptop. 

“I’m sorry.” Stiles flinched, hand half up to protect his face. Chris had never raised his voice at him before. 

“No.” Chris rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m not mad. And I promise, I will never hit you. Ever. But you’re driving me crazy. Can you please, please find something else to do?”

Stiles agreed to find something a little less destructive to do. 

The pool was finally warm, so Stiles tried to wear himself out swimming. He heard Peter come home, but he kept swimming, arms cutting effortlessly through the water until his mind wasn’t circling on his family, on how it was only one person. On how he was cutting his dad out, to keep him safe. On how much he wanted to see his dad anyway. 

\------  
Stiles couldn’t sleep, not even curled under his soft blanket in his safe corner. His dad was back to work and which meant it was safe to call again. They had talked for a long time and it had been nice. 

Too nice. 

Stiles threw off his blanket and got up, pacing. 

He wanted to see his dad. He needed to see his dad. They were both alive and loved each other, a miracle in itself. Stiles missed him.

But it wasn’t safe for Stiles to go home. They had to be watching the house. They would know. Duke didn’t forgive mistakes, and Stiles getting away was a huge one. There would be consequences, sooner or later and Stiles preferred his dad’s heart beating. It was better if the alphas didn’t knew how much his dad meant to him. And that meant staying away.

He ran his hands through his hair. Chris said it was okay to want things. He wanted his dad. Peter loved his family, he would understand.

Maybe there was a way he could have both-he could keep his dad safe but still see him. He pulled out his Captain America notebook and began to plan.

\-------  
It was either very late or incredibly early when he knocked on Peter and Chris’ door. He waited for the tired call to come in, before he pushed it open.

The bedside light was already on and Chris was sitting up, waiting. Peter was still laying down, pillow over his head to block the light.

“Stiles.” Chris stood slowly. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“No.” He should have waited. This could wait for morning. He should go. 

“What is it?”

“You said it’s okay to want things. You said I could have things.”

“I did.” The worry in Chris’ face was fading and his eyes lit up. “Did you come in here to tell me what you finally decided to buy?”

“It had better not be why” Peter growled, and Stiles flinched, but shot the lump under the covers a dark look. Chris hit his husband’s feet.

“Iwanttoseemydad.” Stiles spit out. 

Chris’ face went soft and he reached out, grabbing Stiles hand and pulling him closer, so he could sit on the edge of the bed.

“You can always see your dad. Anytime. If you want to move back there” He cleared his throat. “If you want to move home, you can.”

“No.” The venom with which Stiles said it took the tension out of Chris’ shoulders. Peter was sitting up now, looking at him with that look that made Stiles stomach go tight. 

“I just. I miss him.”

“What do you want to do then Stiles?” Peter’s voice was soft, the pillow gone as the wolf watched him. 

“I want to invite him to dinner. Not here. Just out somewhere. So, I can see him. Please.”

Chris pulled him into a lose hug. “Anytime. Anywhere. I’ll make it happen.”

\--------  
His dad wouldn’t be off for anther two weeks and Stiles didn’t want to wait that long. He wanted to see his dad now. 

“He’s on days right now?” Peter was looking over Stiles shoulder, his body a warm line against Stiles as he peered at the notes that Stiles had made about his dad. Stiles shot him a grumpy look and shut the notebook. It was morning and all three men were in the kitchen, Chris and Peter drinking large amounts of coffee to make up for the missed sleep.

Peter shrugged, then backed up, giving him space. Stiles immediately missed the warmth. 

“Yes.”

“So, invite him out for dinner. Beacon Hills has a nice Italian place. You can eat with your father and Chris and I will eat at another table. Give you some privacy while we have a date night.”

Like Peter wouldn't be able to hear them talking. No. Plus dinner was too close to nighttime and the alphas were nocturnal, for the most part. He would be better off in the day. 

“That sounds nice.” Chris said, around a yawn. 

“No, I don’t like that place.” Stiles loved the Italian place in Beacon Hills. They used to go there every Friday that his dad didn’t work. But it was too private, too out of the way. It would be far too easy to notice the Sheriff eating with his long-lost son.

“I want to go to the diner. For lunch.” The diner was perfect. It was busy and loud and, in the daytime, there would be people everywhere. It would be hard to kidnap Stiles again without someone seeing. Plus the massive number of customers would make it hard to sniff out Stiles. They would be harder to see too, with all the tables and booths. Yeah, the diner it was. 

“Call him and set up a day. Peter might not be able to get off, but until this stupid dealer get me some hard numbers, I’m stuck on my deal. I can take you anytime.”

\-------  
His dad wasn’t there when Stiles called the Sheriff’s department. Debbie was on vacation and her sub didn’t know when he would be back. He left a message and waited. And waited. 

Stiles spent the rest of the day with his phone in his hand, glancing at it and waiting. It figured that the one time he really wanted to talk to his dad, John was too busy.

“Why don’t you call his cell?” Chris asked finally, fed up with Stiles sighs and moping. 

“I don’t know it.” Stiles lied, looking down. 

Chris huffed, then got out his own phone, dialing his soulmate’s dad. He frowned, as it went to voicemail and Stiles’ anxiety spiked.

“I’m sure he just out on a call.” Chris put a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder. 

Stiles’ bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to stand still. “What if he’s not?” What if the alphas had gotten him? He might be missing or worse. What if he was lying dead in a ditch, heart ripped out and blood everywhere?

“Stiles calm down.” He hadn’t noticed the increase in his breathing but at Chris’ soft call, he forced himself to focus on slowing it down. 

“Let’s just drive into town. Someone at the department will know where he is or we will wait until he comes back. Okay?”

Stiles nodded as his heart pounded. 

\----  
Going to the Sheriff’s department was dangerous. Anyone could see him sitting in the lobby waiting. The alphas or any of their spies. And then they would know he still care about his dad and they would take him and hurt him and Stiles would have to go back to them and fuck, fuck, fuck.

A hand on Stiles’ neck pushed his head between his knees as the blood drained for his face and his thoughts spiraled out of control. 

“Breathe.” Chris’ voice was calm, and Stiles clung to it like a lifeline. “The receptionist said he was just out on a call, a basic breaking and entering. Your dad will be back soon. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.” 

“This is the safest place in Beacon Hills. No one here is going to let anything happened to you.”

Chris didn’t know that. The alphas could have moles here. The alphas could be on their way right now. 

“Is he okay?” Even after all the years, Tara’s voice was still soft and sweet. Stiles tired not to recoil from the new person in his space.

“Yeah, I think so. He just isn’t used to being out in public.”

“Stiles, sweetie? I radioed your dad. He’ll be here soon, okay?”

Stiles nodded, then regretted it as the waiting room of the Sheriff’s department spun. A water was pressed into his hands and he managed a small smile at the deputy as he took a sip. 

“You’re safe here, I promise. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Tara’s voice was strong and certain. Stiles felt marginally better due to her confidence. Maybe between her and Chris, he would be safe.

He took a deep breath, then another. The room stopped spinning and Chris relaxed as the blood came back into Stiles’ face. 

He tried to think logically. It wasn’t like the alpha’s didn’t know where Stiles’ dad worked. And it made more sense for him to visit here at work then at home, if Stiles didn’t really care about him. This would be safe enough. It had to be. 

“Stiles!” The Sheriff’s voice was panicked as he ran into the building. “Stiles. Son! Are you alright? What’s wrong, what’s going on?” 

His dad knelt down in front of him, hand on his face, eyes look older than they had any right too. Stiles finally relaxed. His dad was alright. His dad was alive. Suddenly he felt overwhelmed and tears pricked his eyes. He buried his face in his dad’s uniform before anyone could see. 

John didn’t say anything, just held Stiles tighter, murmuring comforting things into his ear until Stiles went boneless against him. 

“Argent.” He hissed over his son’s head. “What did you do?”

Stiles pulled away, defending Chris before his soulmate could even open his mouth. “Dad, he didn’t do anything. You weren’t answering and I left a message, but you never called me back and I worried so he brought me here. Chris didn’t do anything. He would never do anything.”

The anger in his dad’s eyes faded. “I’m sorry son. I’ve been out on call all day and I didn’t get any messages. Our office phones haven’t been working right and my cell must be dead.”

“It’s okay.”

“What did you need?”

In the panic of not knowing where dad was, he had forgotten why he called him in the first place. 

“I wanted to know if you wanted to have lunch tomorrow. With me.”

John smiled and looked so fucking happy it hurt. “Of course. Anytime son. We can go now, if you want.”

“No.” Stiles stomach hurt. He wasn’t ready. “Tomorrow at noon. At the diner.”

“That sounds perfect. Do you want to stick around for a while? My office still has your couch. You could hang out for the afternoon while I do paperwork and I can drop you by Mr. Argent’s after I get off.” 

“No.” He shouldn’t stay too long. It would send the wrong message. “No, we have to go start supper for Peter.”

His dad hugged him again, long and hard. Tara, who had been guarding the door from strangers’ prying eyes the whole time, asked if she could have one too. Stiles nodded. The more people who had his scent, the safer his dad was. After Tara’s hug, a few other veteran deputies came over, wanting to shake his hand or a hug as well, each one smiling as they proclaimed how glad they were he was safe and sound. 

Stiles left the station feeling oddly content. Not only was his dad safe but he had been happy to see him, and so had everyone else. He didn’t expect it. People really had missed him, not just his dad. 

They were getting in the car when Stiles felt the familiar prickle on the back of his neck. He whirled around, just in time to see a frowning face, with dark hair and red glowing eyes. Stiles froze, the dread of earlier coming back threefold, as he stared as his old captor. 

Fuck.

Fuck. 

Fuck.

The twin held a finger up to his lips in a shushing motion, then disappeared around the building.

“Stiles. Stiles! Are you okay?” Chris voice was concerned and suddenly right beside him, running his hands over Stiles looking for a reason for his sudden shut down. But Stiles ignored him because it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now.

They were here.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles couldn’t calm down. He paced in his bedroom where he was escaped the moment they got home. The alphas, at least part of them, were here. 

Chris was worried by Stiles sudden shut down, he could tell. He had been practically unresponsive the entire drive home, numbness stealing his ability to respond to his soulmate's increasingly worried inquires. But there wasn’t time to worry about that. He needed to think. He needed a plan. 

He could run. He was fast and sneaky. He had gotten away once; he could do it again. Maybe they would just come after him. Maybe his dad would be safe if he took off into the night. 

Or he could ask Chris to get out his guns, to go hunting. Maybe Chris could fight them off, maybe he would be enough. But he knew it wouldn’t be. Other hunters had tried before. They all failed. No matter how much respect the Argent name was whispered in the dark by the captives, he was still only one man and no match for a pack of alphas. And then Stiles would be responsible for yet another death. 

No, he couldn't tell Chris. He wouldn't. 

Stiles tried to think through the panic. He was almost positive he saw Ethan. Aiden wouldn't have warned him to be quiet. Aiden like it when he screamed. And if it was Ethan, it was a good thing. Ethan cared about him, in a twisted, possessive way. He would at least try to keep the others from killing Stiles, if only so he could keep him for himself. 

If the others were even here yet. Duke and Kali still had a business to run, with Ennis as their muscle. run. If they had only sent the twins, they weren’t in Beacon Hills yet. Stiles still had time. Right now, they were just fucking with him. They didn’t want him yet.

The full moon was in a few days, so he had time to make a move before they were at full strength, time to make a plan. No. Stiles checked his calendar; in his comfort here with Chris and Peter he had gotten too sloppy. It was tomorrow. His anxiety jumped to all new heights at the realization. That was probably what they were waiting for. 

Or maybe to see if Stiles had told his dad anything. 

Running tonight would be safer for him than waiting, but it put his dad in too much danger. Stiles needed to have lunch with him as planned. And once they were in public, he needed to pick a fight. A big one, where it was clear that Stiles blamed his dad for everything and made it clear he hadn’t told him about his kidnapping. Then he could disappear. 

Stiles paced pulling at his hair and trying to think of what to say, of what would break his dad’s heart. He hated this but he had too. He had to.

His stomach lurched and he ran to the bathroom, dry heaving over the toilet, nothing in him to throw up. 

“Stiles?” Chris knocked on the door. “Are you okay?”

Chris. The hunter who loved him, who cared about him even though Stiles was a broken husk of a man. Chris loved him, and it was going to get the him killed, just as surely as it was going to kill his father. Stiles couldn’t let that happen. 

“Leave me alone.” Stiles put as much hate into it as he could. He let silent tears roll down his face as his soulmate’s footsteps faded away. He was going to have to break Chris’ heart too.  
\-----  
Stiles spent the night in his room, refusing to come out for supper or breakfast, saying hateful thing every time Chris came to check on him. He packed up his things quietly, leaving all the little gifts that Peter had bought him and taking only the most non-descriptive clothes. If his plan went right, he would need them soon.

The drive to the dinner was awful. Chris keep shooting him worried looked and trying to brush his hand over Stiles. Stiles kept his jaw locked and moved away from every comforting touch. He wished he hadn’t let himself care for the hunter so much. It made what he was about to do hurt so much worse. 

Stiles made sure they got to the dinner early. John wasn’t there yet and it was easy for Stiles to pretend that he was too nervous to wait inside. Chris suggested they walk around the block, which was Stiles plan all along, to spread his scent all over and to let his shadow overhear them talking. 

They walked slowly, Stiles keeping his head on a swivel, looking for Ethan, but not relaxing when he didn’t see him. Just because Stiles couldn’t see the wolf, didn’t mean he couldn’t be seen or heard. 

“So, Chris.” Stiles said, conversationally. “You know how you said you loved me.”

Chris smiled slowly, his eyes practically glowing with happiness, not doubt thinking Stiles was going to say something wonderful. “Yes, of course.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking.” Stiles paused, for effect, careful to keep his eyes hard. “I don’t love you. Or Peter.”

Chris’ face went flat but his voice was still calm, caring. “I understand. And I told you that was fine. It only matters that you know I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. But I never will. I don’t think I even like you very much. So I don’t think I should live with you anymore either. Quite frankly, I don’t know why I ever moved in. I guess I just felt sorry for you, having Peter but still not being happy. He doesn’t seem that happy either. He works a lot for a guy who has a husband at home.”

“Stiles.” There was the anger Stiles had been waiting on. “What are you implying?”

“That Peter is definitely cheating on you. Or at least he should be. Hot guy like that, with money he could get anyone, not be stuck with a backwater hick who only knows how to clean guns for a living. Fuck. He should be getting around, fuck the soul mark. Why? Was that not clear?”

Chris stopped and grabbed Stiles hand, forcing him to stop as well. Stiles jerked his hand back. 

“What is going on with you?” Chris’ eyes burned ice cold blue as they bored into him. Stiles had to fight to keep his face hard and cruel when all he wanted to do was bury himself in Chris’ arms and never let go.

“Nothing is going on Christopher. I just don’t think this working anymore.”

They were back at the dinner, having circled the block.

“Alright. Fine. We can talk about this later.” His soulmate was practically vibrating with anger, spitting out his words. “Go have dinner with your dad. I wait in the car for you.”

\-----

John was waiting in their old booth, grinning at his son as he walked in. Stiles sat down, keeping his hands under the table to hide their shaking. 

“I got you a milkshake, like you used to always get.” His dad looked so fucking happy just to be here with his son. “Chocolate with whipped cream.”

“Thanks.” Stiles could barely get the words out. He felt like he was going to throw up, or faint. Maybe both.

The waitress came. John ordered a salad, obviously trying to please his son by ordering something heart healthy. Stiles got soup, which he stirred instead of eating. He felt dizzy and detached. He didn’t want to do this. 

“So, John,” His dad looked up, confused by the use of his name. “I bet your wondering why I asked you to come.”

The Sheriff nodded, his mouth a firm line and eyebrows pulled down, showing the deep lines around his eyes. “I did think it was a little odd. But I was hoping you just wanted to spend some time with your old man.”

“I came to tell you to give it up. I’m not coming come. I’m never coming home. I like living with Chris and I’m sick of constantly having to check in with you. I’m a grown man. I don’t owe you anything.”

“Stiles, you don’t have to come live with me. And I know you’re a grown up. But I worry about you all the time. You were gone for so long and I missed you so, so much. I want to be a part of your life.”

“Oh, like you were before I disappeared.”

His father jerked back like Stiles had hit him. In the weeks before Stiles had gone missing, John had been working a case. He was never at home and when he was, he was drinking, and drinking a lot, trying to get the case off of his mind enough to sleep. Even before that, John was prone to working too much and having too little energy left for his son.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. You have no idea how much I regret it. I should have been home that night. I should have made you the priority. I spent years trying to find you. I told myself that when I did, I would make sure you knew how much I love you, how much you mean to me. You are my priority now, I promise.”

Stiles snorted, even as his heart broke. “Sure, am I. Just like I was after mom died. I bet you were drunk more than sober, pathetically holding on to your job because everyone pitied you.”

Make a scene, Stiles reminded himself. Make sure everyone can hear you.

“I bet you spent the last four years wasted. Meanwhile I was being hurt in ways you have never even though of, in ways you can’t imagine.”

“Stiles, I’m so sorry. Please, tell me what happened. We can find them, make them pay. Please son, just talk to me.” His dad was crying, hand out, trying to pull his son in close, even as Stiles moved away.

“Fuck you John! I hate you. You couldn’t even solve your own son’s disappearance. I’m not telling you anything. Ever. So, get the fuck out of my life.”

Stiles stood up and walked out, ignoring the sound of his dad sobbing in the booth behind him and the silence of all the other dinner who had witnessed the fight.   
Stiles got into the car with a hard-faced Chris. He felt numb like he hadn’t since that night at the quarry. 

“I’m moving out tomorrow. My dad is picking me up.”

\------

Stiles plan was simple. In the early morning after the moon had set but before Chris was up, he was always up late on full moons, Stiles would disappear. He hoped he could escape out of town, slide right through Ethan’s fingers, but he doubted it. But, no matter what happen to Stiles, his father would be too hurt to contact Chris. And Chris would be too mad to call the Sheriff. No one who cared would notice he was gone, and the alpha’s having heard the fights, would leave them both alone. Hopefully. 

He just had to make it through the night. 

Stiles hid in his room yet again, refusing to come out. Not that Chris asked. The hunter seemed happy enough to keep his distance, a permanent frown on his face when he looked at Stiles. Good. It was better that way. 

The sun set and Stiles paced, too wired to do anything else. His mind was going over and over all the things that could happen, all the things that could go wrong. 

His phone sat on the bed; the screen black. His dad hadn’t even tried to call. Stiles was glad. It meant that his plan had worked. He tried to ignore how badly he wanted to hear his dad’s voice. 

It was nearly midnight when Stiles finally sat down in his corner. His bad leg was hurting too much to pace anymore. He sat in the corner and shook, blanket wrapped tightly around him. 

The wind picked up. A summer storm was brewing. Stiles could feel the change in the air. The clouds moved across his window, blocking out the light of the full moon. He could hear rain beating on the roof. Any other time, it could have been comforting. As it was, it only set him more on edge. 

As he watched the storm move in, he saw a shadow move across the yard. In an instant he was up, the stolen kitchen knife in his hand. With his pulse racing, he ran over to the window. He searched for the telltale sign of red eyes but couldn’t see a thing over the pouring rain. 

A gust of wind came, and the trees howled with it. Stiles jumped, eyes wide and terrified as the window he was standing in front of shattered and something burst into the room, littering his arms and face with shallow cuts from the glass. 

Stiles had though for a long time, ever since he woke up at the hospital, in fact, about what he would do when the alphas came back. If he would walk slowly back to his doom all the fight gone from him. If he would run, knowing full well he would be caught. If he would work up the courage to fight, to stab and slice with his pathetic weapon before they ripped his throat open.

But now that the moment was here, he didn’t do any of those things. He opened his mouth and screamed. He screamed in rage, in fear, in frustration over this never ending nightmare. He screamed as he backed away from the window frantically, because he didn’t want to die, he didn’t want to go back. 

“Stiles!” He could barely hear the shout over his own screams but only moments later, Chris burst into his room, gun in hand. He didn’t stop to turn on the light but aimed at the broken window. 

Stiles lost track of things for a while. All he knew was the fear that completely enveloped him, fear that made him stupid and weak. 

When he finally ran out of air and his screams cut off, Chris was there so close his face was all Stiles could see, his hands around Stiles’ arms, bracketing but not restricting.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” Chris was saying, over and over again. “It was just a branch. A branch broke the window. You’re okay.”

His soulmate’s words sunk in slowly. A tree limb broke the window. Because of the storm. They weren’t here. They weren’t about to rip him our of Chris' arms. 

But they were here. And Chris, Chris was in danger. He pushed away. 

“You don’t understand. You don’t. They’re here. And you’re not supposed to care about me anymore. So you stay safe. You need to hate me. I wanted you to hate me.” It came out in a rush, fear making him careless with his words as he gave away far too much. 

“What are you talking about? Who is here?”

“Them! They are. And they’re going to take me back, so you have to stay away, or they’ll kill you too.”

Stiles could see the moment realization hit Chris, the pieces clicking in his brain. “The people who kidnapped you. You think they’re coming?”

Stiles nodded. “I know they are.”

They stood for a moment in silence, the storm loud through the broken window. Stiles shivered as blood dripped down his arms, dotting the carpet under him.

“How do you know?”

“I saw one.”

Chris ran a hand over his beard, gun now stowed away in his waistband. “You saw one.”

Stiles nodded again. 

“At the police station the other day, when we were leaving. You were staring at something. Was it them?”

“Yes.”

“That’s why you shut down, why you pushed me away so hard.”

Stiles felt like crying. All his planning was for nothing. 

“I need you to be safe,” he whispered.

“Your dad isn’t coming for you tomorrow. You were going to run away. To protect us.”

“I had to.” Stiles couldn’t meet those bright blue eyes, to see the shame and disappointment in them.

“Stiles.” A hand was on his check. “Look at me please.”

He raised up and saw nothing but love in the other man’s face.

“Look,” Chris said, getting out his phone and pulling up an app. “When you moved in, I had motion sensors installed. Anything bigger than a cat moves out there, the cameras automatically start filming and I get an alert. Nothing was triggered tonight. No one was out there. You’re safe here. I promise. I won’t let anyone take you ever again. I promise.”

Stiles threw his bloody arms around Chris neck and held on for all he was worth. He sagged, his knees going weak. 

“Come on.” Chris picked him up effortlessly. Stiles knew he was light, but the older man didn’t even struggle. He took Stiles away from the dark room, ignoring the mess of the shattered window and the rain that was soaking the floor. 

Chris took Stiles to his and Peter’s bathroom that was attached to the bedroom. He put Stiles on the closed toilet lid and pulled out a rather impressive first aid kit. 

“Take these.” Chris handed Stiles a couple of white pain pills. Stiles dry swallowed them without question, though he didn’t think he needed them, He was numb again already. He couldn’t feel Chris cleaning his cuts, even when the peroxide bubbled.

“None of these should need stitches. We’ll bandage them up and you’ll be fine.”

Stiles nodded, then leaned his head against the bathroom counter. He was so tired, so worn out from the consent fear. 

“Hey, no. Stay with me.” Chris said, his hand soft on Stiles’ neck. Stiles managed to open his eyes back up. He didn’t even realize he had closed them.

“There you go.” Chris smiled, and fuck, Stiles would give anything to keep that look on his face. Even stay awake when all he wanted to do was sleep. Even staying when everything in him screamed run.

Chris finished up the bandages and led Stiles out to the bedroom. He tried to pull Stiles up on the bed, but Stiles balked. 

“No.” He wasn’t afraid that Chris would try to force him. He knew Chris would never hurt him. “Peter won’t like it.”

The wolf would be able to smell it. It wasn’t worth the risk. 

“Peter won’t care.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Seriously. Peter trust me and he trust you. He won’t mind you staying with me, especially considering the night we have had. I want you near me. Please.”

Stiles took a step closer. The bed did look comfortable and he was so tired he was swaying on the spot.

“I don’t want him to get mad at me. He’s always so mad at me.” 

“Stiles, Peter is never mad at you. That’s just Peter. His childhood was pretty messed up and now he doesn’t know how to deal with people normally. He ignores people he doesn’t like and smothers the ones he loves with gifts and affection. It can be a lot. After the panic attack you had the first time you met, we talked and decided it would be better if he gave you space, since he can’t show even a little bit affection without being completely over the top. I didn’t think you would be able to handle him. That’s all it. It had nothing to do with him not liking you, or being mad.”

“That’s stupid.” But it made sense. Stiles saw the way Peter looked at Chris, with completely devotion, like the hunter hung the moon. The way he was starting to look at Stiles. 

“That’s Peter.” It was said with affection. “He really is trying.”

“I know.” Stiles did know. He saw the effort Peter was making, the food and the gifts. “Does he know you love me?”

It seemed important that Peter know. Stiles was so, so tired of secrets, of worry. 

“He knows. I don’t keep secrets from him. But he also knows that it doesn’t take love away from him, to love you too. Love doesn’t work that way.”

Stiles swayed a little bit more, mulling it over. 

“Come to bed. Please.”

Stiles gave in and complied. The bed was as comfortable as it looked, with soft sheets and the blanket being just heavy enough for springtime nights. He laid on the far side, being sure to leave space between Chris and himself.

Chris laid his gun on the bedside table. Stiles shuttered at the reminder of the alphas but was grateful to have the weapon so close. 

There must have been a sedative in the pills he took because as soon as he settled against the pillows, his eyes slid shut. 

“You’ll keep me safe?” he slurred out.

Chris hand nudged his. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bad news, chickadees. The word file I was typing this story in had an unsuccessful shutdown and long story short, it is now corrupted and apparently I can't do anything to fix it. I have tried everything the internet suggested and then some. I lost several chapters and my outline. My updates are now going to be very slow, because I have to remember and retype basically the last third of this story.
> 
> Please, don't give up on me! It will get done, it will just be slow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm back! Thank you all so much for waiting. I'm still retyping all my lost work, but I have enough done that I don't feel guilty for posting this chapter. 
> 
> And thank you all for the wonderful comments and encouragement! They kept me going when I wanted to abandon this project and throw my computer against the wall. I am the worst at replying to anything, but please know I have read every one of them and appropriate it so much.

Peter’s feet dragged as he walked into his house, the joy of the recent full moon not enough to overcome the mind-numbing exhaustion he felt. Life was wearing him down. 

Work was awful, too busy and too stressful. His clients got arrested over and over, then expected Peter to magically fix their problems instantly. His assistant had quit out of the blue to run off to India with his girlfriend and Peter hadn’t been able to replace him yet. Plus, his payroll had been messed up the last two weeks, so all his employees were frustrated. 

Not to mention that fact that Chris’ arms deal was getting more and more complicated, which lead to his husband also being stressed, and a stressed Chris was a grumpy Chris. 

Peter had quietly looked at the deal when Chris wasn’t looking. He wasn’t even sure what the buyer wanted was legal. He thought Chris should pull out, but his husband was reluctant. He had already put in a lot of man hours and called in a lot of favors. 

At least his home life had finally settled down. 

Adjusting to Stiles had been difficult. Peter had been so angry at first. At Chris for spending all his time at the hospital. For letting the kid live with them without even asking. Angry at the kid for somehow making his husband fall head over heals in love without even trying. 

But then Peter actually met Stiles the kid and he understood Chris’s need to keep Stiles nearby and safe, even if he didn’t like it. The poor kid was broken, physically and mentally, constantly reeking of fear and anxiety. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, and clung to Chris like he was the only person who could save him. 

Still, Peter wanted so badly to hate Stiles. He wanted to hold on to his righteous anger and ignore Stiles until he was gone. 

But the wolf in him had absolutely howled when he first laid eyes on Stiles, shaking and terrified in the dining room. The wolf wanted to protect him, love him, save him.

It had become a dance for Peter, balancing his wolf’s overwhelming need to protect and fix, with his more human emotions of resentment and frustration for the change in his life.

And week by week, the wolf started to win. Hence the gifts and food, the little treats he brought to Stiles just on the off chance one of them might make him smile, because he wanted so badly to see that fucking smile. Until Stiles had terrified both he and Chris his massive panic attack over a handful of gifts. After that, Peter was careful to keep kept his distance, watching and waiting, trying to show his affection without being overbearing.

He was still waiting. But he couldn’t help but feel like his wait was coming to an end. 

Peter yawned as he came in. He hadn’t planned on coming home today. He was supposed to stay in the pack house, wrapped up with his family and sleeping off the full moon hangover. 

But Chris had texted the evening before saying he and Stiles had a fight, that Stiles wanted to move out. His husband was upset, upset enough to text Peter on a full moon. He and Stiles had never had a fight, and this sounded like a bad one. So, Peter headed home as soon as the moon set, to lend Chris whatever support he could give, and hopefully keep their soulmate in their house. 

He opened the door and patted quietly through the house, stopping briefly to puzzle at the destroyed library. Chris hadn’t mentioned anything about the fight getting physical. He knew Chris would never hurt Stiles, but Peter wasn’t sure about Stiles hurting Chris. Possibly, if he felt trapped, like a feral animal. 

Peter’s nostrils flared and his eyes burned as he caught the faint scent of blood. He followed the scent, racing to the bedroom where two hearts beat. 

Chris was sitting up in bed messing with his phone. He looked up and held a finger to his lips to shush Peter as he came running in. Stiles was sound asleep on Peter’s side of the bed, skin pale and face peaceful. But the room smelled like fear and blood, negating the domestic scene before him.

Peter went in for a kiss, deep and hard, drinking in the scent of metal and aftershave with the hint of spice that was simply Chris.

“What happened? The library is a mess. Was it because of your fight?” He asked his husband, nosing his face along Chris’ collarbone. Peter didn’t smell any blood on Chris, at least.

Which meant it was all on Stiles. 

“A branch came through the library window during the storm. Stiles must have been standing in front of it, because he was cut to shit. Fucking scared me to death, the way he was screaming. He was terrified. I thought he was dying.”

“Fuck. That sounds awful.” Peter kicked off his muddy shoes and scooted Chris over so he could sit on the bed too, wrapping an arm around his partner’s waist. “So that’s why he’s in here.”

“Yeah. I just. I needed to see him. I didn’t want him to sleep alone. He’ll be OK. But I gave him the good pain pills, so he’ll probably sleep for a while still.”

“And then he’ll move out?” Peter asked bluntly, dreading the answer. Chris shot him a dark look, before his face went blank. “What? That’s what you texted me last night. That you had a fight and Stiles was going back to his dad's.”

Chris expression didn't change, though his fingers twitched, like they were searching for a weapon. Peter knew the look on his husband’s face. It was his hunting look. The look he got when he had his prey in the sights, about to pull the trigger. Only this time, there wasn’t anything to kill. Not yet anyway. 

“Chris.” Peter asked mildly, though his fangs itched to drop even before he knew what the danger was. “What’s going on?”

“I talked to his dad this morning. Stiles fought with him too. Said he didn’t want to have to check in anymore, that he didn’t ever want to talk to him again. Meanwhile, he tells me is hates us and wants to move in with his dad.”

“He lied to you both.”

“Yep. So, he could run away without anyone looking for him.”

Clever, but Peter wasn’t surprised. He had seen the intelligence in the kid’s eyes, in the way he watched Peter as carefully as the wolf watched him. 

He was surprised that it had taken that long for Stiles to try to run. He had noticed that from the start, the kid was always looking at the exits, always pushing himself physically to be able to move, never making himself at home with Peter and Chris. Apparently, he was finally ready to go.

“There’s more.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. 

“Last night Stiles had another panic attack. During it he told me that he had seen the people who took him in town, outside the Sheriff’s department. He thinks they’re stalking him, that they are coming for him.”

“And you don’t?”

“I think that Stiles has been doing so well. We're finally becoming something.” Chris eyes sparkled as admitted that he and Stiles had moved from protector and protected to something else. 

Chris continued. “And that scares him. too. So, he sees someone that looks a little like his captor and suddenly they are here. There’s a threat and so back and he can go back to being numb and distant. Because it’s easier, mentally, than dealing with any feelings he might be having.”

“Mhhh.”

Chris rolled his eyes, annoyed at his husband. 

“What do you think Peter?”

“I think you could be right. It is always easier to run than to recover. But Stiles has told us almost nothing about what happened to him. Who’s to say that they wouldn't come back for him, tie up loose ends? If it were me, I would wait until my victim was comfortable, wait for him to let his guard back down, before I struck.”

Chris looked possessively over at the sleeping man beside them. He looked so young and peaceful , the normally haunted looked on his face smoothed out by sleep.

“If they are here, I’m going to kill them.” Chris said, matter-of-factly running a hand through Stiles’ hair, face still blank but eyes dangerously intense. 

Peter felt a rush of emotions for both his soulmates. He let his eyes burn blue for a moment as he looked at his husband and grinned murderously. 

“I’ll help.”

They settled in, both lost in their own thoughts, when Peter had finally said what he had been thinking for a while.

“Chris, we need to talk to him. Ask him exactly what happened, get names descriptions. Something, anything. He can’t stay quiet about this anymore.” They needed to know the truth, if they were going to have any chance in hell of helping Stiles, either by finding a killing the threat, or proving it wasn’t here. 

“I know. But I’m worried. If he talks about if, he'll have to relive it. What if it's too much for him? How can I ask him to take that risk?”

Peter understood. Stiles needed to confront his past, to talk about it so he could move past it. But the very thing that could save him, could also destroy him, could set him off so badly he might never recover. 

Peter didn’t have any answers. He pressed a kiss against Chris cheek, and they sat together, listening to Stiles sleep. 

\-------  
Peter showered, then spend some time in the woods, trying to catch the scent of anyone new or different, anyone who shouldn’t be in his forest. He didn’t smell anything and by the time he headed back to the house, he was confident that no one had been in the woods or near the house last night.

He called Talia to let her know what was going on only to find that Chris had already texted her, both about Stiles’ latest panic attack, as well as their concern over his kidnappers coming back to Beacon Hills. Apparently Chris had been keeping her in the loop very well these past few months. Peter felt a flash of annoyance at that but it faded quickly. Talia needed to know these things; she was the alpha after all. And just because she had been keeping her distance to respect Stiles’ recovery, didn’t mean she didn’t support him. Support all of them, really. 

She did say she hadn’t seen any strangers around town but promised to ask the kids, since they tended to see more people on any given day. She made him promise to keep her in the loop, and to give Chris her love.

By the time Peter got back to the house, Chris was up and drinking coffee and cooking eggs for a very late breakfast. He handed Peter a cup of coffee with cream, just like he liked it. 

“Stiles is out swimming.” Chris said, answering the question Peter didn’t ask. 

“Did you talk to him?”

Chris shook his head, eyes flickering up to watch Stiles’ thin arms cut through the water through the glass doors. 

“I thought it could wait until after he ate. He’s been skipping meals again. And when he does eat, he throws it all up.”

Peter winced. Stiles didn’t have enough fat on his body to be wasting any calories purging.

Peter looked over at Chris and saw his husband’s tired eyes and pale skin. He was hunched over like his body hurt, and he looked like he had lost some weight too. Chris looked worn down in a way Peter didn’t think he had seen before. Peter leaned over and kissed his forehead. 

“I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Don’t. He woke up screaming at me not to hurt him. He only just calmed down enough to swim right before you got back, and only if I promised to keep any eye on him the whole time.”

Peter shook his head and headed out the patio door. He wasn’t letting Chris carry Stiles alone anymore. They were all soulmates, and even if he and Stiles weren’t bonded, even if they never bonded, he wasn’t letting his husband suffer the pressure of trying to keep the kid alive alone. 

“I won’t upset him. I promise.”

\------  
Stiles looked up the second Peter came outside, treading water and watching the wolf carefully. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked cautious, but not frightened. 

“Can we talk?”

Stiles swam over to the side, pulling himself up on the edge. Peter was surprised he had enough strength to do that. From what he could see under the long sleeve swim shirt Stiles was wearing, the human still didn’t have any muscle definition, each rib still visible. 

“What’s up?” Stiles looked casual as he grabbed a towel and began to dry off. Looking at him, no one would guess that he had had a panic attack the night before. But Peter could smell the anxiety pouring off him even now. 

“Christopher.”

Stiles eyebrows went up and he sat down on the pool chair. 

“You care about Chris. I know you do. You wouldn’t have picked a fight with him to try to protect him if you didn’t.”

“So.” Stiles’ jaw was clenched. Peter was pleased the Stiles was getting defensive and not simply rolling over. It meant there was still some life in the boy, and where there life, there was hope.

“I care about him too. Very much. More than you can possible imagine.”

Stiles opened his mouth, but Peter ran right over him. “And this with you, it’s hurting him. He’s tired and he’s worried about you all the time. It’s exhausting him, down to the bone.”

Stiles was barely controlling his rage. “I never asked him to care about me.”

“I know.”

They saw in silence, the sun slowly warming Peter to the point where he was uncomfortable. But he could wait. He was nothing if not patient. 

“So, what do you want me to do?” Stiles asked finally. 

Peter held back a grin. He had long suspected Stiles care for Chris as much as the hunter cared for him. Stiles response only confirmed it. 

“Trust me.”

Stiles absolutely snarled, his teeth snapping. Peter’s eyebrows rose, surprised at the animistic reaction. 

“No.”

“I’m not asking you to bare your deepest secrets.” That would be Chris, after brunch. “Or for you to hold my hand. I’m just asking you to let me help. Let me take you to some doctor’s appointment. Go grocery shopping with me so Chris can rest and maybe stay alone at the house with me occasionally so Chris can run his work errands without worrying about you the entire time.”

Stiles seemed to wilt as Peter talked, pulling his towel tight around his thin shoulders. “I don’t even know you.”

“What do you want to know?”

Stiles met his eyes, something Peter wasn’t sure he had ever done before. They were beautiful, shinning gold in the sunlight. “Anything. Everything.”

Peter thought long and hard. It was a reasonable request. But there were lots of things Stiles wasn’t ready to hear about, not while he was so fragile. Werewolves for one, though he could think of a few others. 

“My name is Peter Hale. I have an annoying big sister and way too many nieces and nephews who I love so much it hurts. I have a husband that I adore. I’m a lawyer, a fucking good one. I hate football and but I love baseball, even though I’ve never been to a game. I’m a food snob. Most of the better restaurants in San Francisco know me on sight. I like to read, but between you and me, I love those action movies Chris keeps making me watch. I’m a sucker for chocolate, as long as it’s European and I hate polyester.”

Stiles smiled and the longer Peter talked the more pronounced it became. 

“I have two soulmates, one that I had to fight tooth and nail for and the other whom I’m still learning to love. But he’s important to me, even if I don’t always show it the way I want to.”

He wanted to show Stiles how much he meant to him. More often than not, Peter wanted to hold Stiles down and take his pain, licking his wounds until they no longer hurt and kissing away the hurt in his eyes. But he couldn’t. Not yet. 

Stiles kept his gaze steady as he replied. “My name is Stiles. Or at least that’s what I like to go by when I have a choice. I have a father that I love more than the world. I never finished high school and I’ll eat anything you put in front of me, even though if comes back up more often than not. I like reading books and watching movies, as long as Chris is in the room. I also love chocolate, though I’m not picky about what kind. I love superhero’s, comics and all things nerdy, I enjoy lacrosse, even though I suck at it. I have two soulmates.”

“I want to love them.” Stiles finally looked down, face flaming with the pressure of being so honest. “ I do. But I’m so afraid. All the time.”

Peter carefully place his hand on Stiles towel covered shoulder, careful not to brush against any skin. He didn’t want to necessitate the soul bond by accidentally touching skin to skin. He wouldn't force it, not now, not ever. Stiles deserved that, at the very least.

“It’s very nice to meet you.”

\-----  
Chris asking about the kidnapping went just about as well as they expected. Stiles refused to tell them anything, had an anxiety attack, then spent the next hour in the bathroom throwing up his stomach. 

Peter stood outside while Chris nursed Stiles through it, wondering what happened to him, what those fuckers had done, that the mere thought of telling Chris, the man Stiles professed to love, was enough to make him vomit. 

He wondered if there was something else going on there besides sever emotional trauma, something of a more magical or supernatural nature but had no idea of how to find out. He didn’t trust Deaton, the Hale pack’s emissary, enough to bring Stiles to him. Although Deaton was certainly knowledgeable, his tendency for dramatics was not what they needed right now. 

Stiles managed to reopen most of his cuts with his heaving, so Chris dossed him back up with the heavy-duty pain meds and put him to bed, once again in Peter and Chris’ bedroom. He wouldn’t be able to sleep in the library anyway, not until the window was fixed, assuming he would want to. Peter planned on sleeping in the upstairs spare bedroom until it was fixed.

Chris and Peter ended up on the couch, wrapped around each other, too tired to even turn on the TV.

“What are we going to do?” Chris asked. “He can’t stay like this. The fear and the worry, it’s killing him.”

To Peter’s surprise, Chris began to cry, chest heaving as he let out all the frustration and fear from the last few days. Peter held him close, rubbing a hand up and down his partner’s back and fighting back his own worries. Because this was killing Chris too. Peter couldn’t bear to lose either him. He couldn’t lose either one of them.

“You’re going to keep doing exactly what you have been. Being a supportive and amazing soulmate. He loves you Chris, even if he can’t say it. He wouldn't have tried so hard to hurt you if he didn’t.”

A few more tears found their way down Chris weathered cheeks. But he nodded, eyes lighting up as he held onto Peter’s words. 

“Meanwhile, I’m going to do some research. Let’s see if I can’t solve the mystery of Stiles disappearance. Maybe we don’t need Stiles to tell us anything.”

Chris managed a watery smile. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

Peter didn’t answer but held onto Chris until he drifted off. He was nowhere near as confident that he would be able to find any answers. 

Stiles’ own father hadn’t figured it out. Neither had the half a dozen other detectives and officers on the case. It had been written off as unsolvable with the current evidence. For the first time in long time, he wasn’t confident in his abilities to find out the truth, to protect his pack. But he had to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with the switch to Peter's POV, and I'm so afraid it might show. I must have changed this chapter fifty times. I hope nothing feels too out of character or rushed. Let me know what you think!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the angst will be easing up soon, and things will get better for poor Stiles. Until then, enjoy.

Getting the case files from the Sheriff’s department was easy. He called in a favor to Tara, a detective that both Chris and Stiles had mentioned as good police. 

He would have simply asked John, but apparently, the Sheriff was less than pleased with he and Chris. After John's public humiliation at the hands of his son, John had called Chris in a rage, demanding to know why his son was poisoned against him, the hurt echoing in every word. Chris did his best to calm John down without telling him that it had all been a ruse. Both Chris and Peter agreed, they didn’t want to involve the Sheriff with the possibility of the kidnappers being back in town, until they were certain of it. He might be the Sheriff, but Stiles had worked hard to keep his father out of it. They would respect that distance, for as long as they were able. Which would only be until Peter knew something for sure. 

Tara had been more than willing to share the files, once Peter explained why he needed them. She met him behind the police station the next night, cautioning that he didn’t get the files from her. Her eyes were sharp, as she helped load the boxes into Peter’s car. The only thing she asked was that if Peter found out who it was, he would call her. She promised that whoever it was, they would be persecuted to the fullest extent of the law. 

Peter didn’t have the heart to tell her that when he found those responsible for Stiles disappearance, they would end up in shallow graves. In pieces, preferably. 

It took Peter five trips to lug them all up to his office, sneaking them past Chris and Stiles. Chris knew what he was up to, but he would prefer Stiles didn’t. He was concerned, based on how any attempt to talk about his disappearance, about how Stiles would react if he found out what Peter was researching. He shut his office door tight, but he wasn’t worried that Stiles would snoop. Stiles never went into Peter’s office, only Chris’s. 

Peter wanted to skip off work the next day to get started, but he didn’t. If things went the way he wanted, he would need all the time off work he could get to actually hunt down the fuckers, once he had names. Then, once they were dead, he was going to take Chris and Stiles somewhere they could relax, a proper vacation. Maybe the coast, somewhere warm.

It was similar logic that had kept him from bringing the files to work. He was worried that once he got started on Stiles case, he wouldn't stop, and he couldn’t afford to be stuck at the office late every night catching up on mandatory work. Not when he and Stiles were going to work on giving Chris a break, to try to get that weary look out of his soulmate’s eyes.

\------  
Because of work, Peter didn’t get a chance to start in on Stiles’ case until that weekend. Saturday, Chris got up early and cooked a full breakfast, that they were all gathered at the table eating. 

Chris eyes were bright, though he still had dark bags under them, his skin looking paper thin and hair a mess. He watched his husband eat, practically vibrating with anticipation, his own meal forgotten.

“Yes Christopher?”

“You’re going to work on your special case, today right? The important one.”

Peter rolled his eyes over how obvious his husband was being. They had agreed not to tell Stiles what exactly Peter was doing, but if Chris kept this up, he was going to figure it out anyway. Stiles was way too smart to be fooled for long, though right now, he was too busy pretending to notice how weird Chris was being.

“Yes, I am.”

“Do you think I could help?”

Stiles stopped moving his eggs around his plate and looked up, finally taking notice of the conversation around him. 

Peter didn’t mind help. It was a lot of papers to go through, plus he could spend some one on one time with his husband, since he knew that Stiles would never to into this office. He had missed that too. 

Chris wasn’t always the most bookish of all people, but he was amazing at finding patters and seeing connections. It was what made him such a good hunter. He could definitely be helpful. 

“Sure. As long as Stiles doesn’t mind sharing you today.”

“It’s fine.” Stiles heart jumped, but his scent didn’t go sour with anxiety, so Peter didn’t call him out on the lie. 

In fact, Stiles had been doing well lately, considering his setback. He didn’t backslide into the withdrawn and terrified man he had been when he first arrived.Instead, he was clingy with Chris and his heart constantly seemed to be in overdrive, but honestly, Peter was amazed by how well he was doing overall. 

Sure, he often smelled anxious, jerking at small noises and refusing to go into town, even to the store with Chris. But he hadn’t been having any more panic attacks. He was sleeping in the library again, the soaked and ruined carpet having been ripped up and replaced, and shatter proof glass being put in the window. He hadn’t made any other nighttime visits to Peter and Chris’s room and Peter didn’t hear him waking up screaming, so he seemed to be sleeping okay.

Though he did have some pretty impressive undereye bruises and he moved sluggishly, like he was 50 years older. But Peter wrote it off as a result of the slow healing of humans. Stiles' original fall had left him stiff, sore and slow to get up even on his best days and the newest incident just exacerbated his old injuries. 

Stiles was making a real effort to follow through with learning to trust Peter after their heart to heart, which was how Peter was able to tell just how Stiles was doing. Granted Peter had been working late most of the past week, but when he was home, Stiles had started seeking him out, sitting and reading with Peter willingly while Chris worked upstairs. It was nice, to sit and read with someone, soul-filling to connect without even speaking. 

“We’ll get started right after breakfast.” Peter shot Stiles a smile that wasn’t returned, as Stiles put his half-eaten plate in the kitchen and started to clean up, smelling like something Peter couldn’t put a name to. 

Peter shook his head and tried to put any worries about Stiles out of his mind. Stiles was fine. He was strong and if he could hold on just a little long, Peter would take care of all his fears. 

\-------  
Chris whistled as shook his head, looking at all the files scattered all over Peter’s office.

“This is a more than I thought it would be.” Chris said, looking mildly overwhelmed. 

“Yes,” Peter said, grabbing the first box. “Stiles was apparently beloved by the entire police department. They did it all by the book and wrote up reports on everything.”

They worked quietly for a bit, mostly sorting files basted mostly off who wrote them. John’s pile was the biggest, obviously, but there were several other officers who came close to matching it. 

It got quiet for a while, as they each worked, mostly at moving the boxes around enough that they both had room to work, though Peter tended to flip through the files as he went. After a bit, Chris sighed, and ran a hand over his eyes. 

“So what exactly am I looking for in all of this?”

“I’m not sure.” Peter didn’t think there would be a file with “The Truth” written on it. His main goal was simply to learn as much as possible about the disappearance and hope something, a pattern or clue jumped out at him. 

“Can you just give me the basics? What exactly do the cops say happened? So I at least know what I’m looking for in this mess.”

Peter frowned. He had known the basic story for a while now, having looked it up just days after finding out his soulmate’s name. But he was surprised that Chris didn’t, considering how close he and Stiles were. 

“Stiles Stilinski went missing on a Tuesday in April, for years ago. He was last seen at school by his friend Scott McCall. Normally they would ride the bus home together, but that particular day, Scott’s mom picked him up for a doctor’s appointment, so Scott didn’t see him after school. Stiles rode the bus home and presumable got off at the right stop. The driver couldn’t remember specifically if he did or not. No one heard from him after that, no texts or calls to or from his phone. His father got home after shift, about 10pm. He checked in on Stiles, only to find him gone. He spent about an hour calls friends before putting out an amber alert at 11pm. By midnight, the entire Beacon Hills police force was looking for him, with no luck. He vanished without a trace. That was all anyone ever saw of him, until you found him at the quarry.”

Chris had grown more and more pale as Peter clinically described the way their soulmate went missing. He didn’t speak when Peter finished, but instead swallowed hard and nodded, as he began to sort through the files in earnest. 

They were quiet for a bit, reading quietly. 

“Huh.”

“What?” Chris said, not looking up.

“The FBI was involved.”

Chris did look up then. “Weird. Usually they are only involved for tender-aged children. Like eight and under, I think.”

“Well, they were there only 24 hours after Stiles was reported missing.”

“That’s suspicious, right?”

“Most certainly.”

Peter grabbed his laptop out of sea of papers. He didn’t see the FBI report anywhere in his mess, but there was a name reference of who had ran the operation, a Ralph McCall. There was no way it was a coincidence that the agent had the same last name as Stiles’ best friend. It was only a question of whether Agent McCall had been called in because he was a friend as well, or because he was covering up something. 

It didn’t take that long for Peter to find an email address for McCall. He wrote a strongly worded email, explaining that he was representing the Stilinski family in their attempt to sue the FBI for misconduct during the disappearance of Stiles, and requesting the federal files from the bureau. 

It was a lie, of course, and Peter didn’t think he would ever actually get to see the FBI files. But Peter suspected that the threat of misconduct would be enough to convince the agent to get back in touch with him quickly. And once he had McCall talking, he could squeeze all types of information out of him. 

He didn’t expect an immediate response, so he shut his laptop for now. He would give McCall two or three days to stew before he heard back. Peter got back to the files.

Or at least he tried to.

He was distracted by a low thumping noise, fast and constant. He paused and focused and was able to make out the sound of a hummingbird heartbeat far closer than he expected.

“Chris?” Peter asked carefully, dreading the answer “Is Stiles upstairs?”

“Probably.”

“Right outside the door?”

“More than likely.”

Peter ran a hand over his face. “Why?”

Chris looked tired. He dropped heavily into a chair.

“Because he doesn’t like to let me out of his sight. He follows me everywhere. I practically have to push him into the hall when I have to use the bathroom. And he’s not sleeping again. Sure, he goes to his room, but when I get up and check on him and he is always awake, sitting in the corner watching the window. His anxiety is sky high all the time; he has panic attacks every day, but to make it worse, he is getting better at hiding them from me. The last one I didn’t even notice until he bit through his lip trying to keep quiet and somehow keeps his heart steady enough that you don’t notice. He”

Peter didn’t wait to hear anymore. He went over to his office door and jerked it open. Stiles must have been laying with his back against it, because when it open, he fell into the room. He was up in an instant, throwing himself at Chris like he hadn’t seen him in days. 

Chris jumped up from his seat and wrapped his hands around the younger man, whispering comforting things in his ear. Stiles pulse raced as his breaths hitched and wavered, but his heart rate was always so high it was hard to tell the difference between this and his resting rate. Peter could see what Chris meant. His face was almost blank, and if not for the wolf’s enhanced senses, he might have missed how upset the kid was. He had missed too much with them, as it was. 

Peter watched the mess and wondered how he could have ever though Stiles was okay. 

“Why don’t you guys head downstairs, watch some TV?” Peter suggested, knowing that Stiles needed Chris more than Peter did right now. He figured that they would be asleep within minutes. They were both too worn to stay awake if they sat down, and they needed the rest.

Chris frowned; Stiles tucked tight against his side. “But what about all of this?”

“What is this?” Stiles asked, apparently noticing the scattered files for the first time. 

“It’s just a project for work. It’s off the books for now, so I don’t want it at the office.” Peter lied easily. “And Chris, I’ll figure something out. It is my job, after all.”

Chris hesitated, torn between wanting to comfort Stiles, and hunt down the bastards that hurt him so bad in the first place. 

“It’s fine. I promise.” Peter assured Chris, “I have an idea.”

\-------  
Peter waited until his soulmates’ heartbeats had settled out in sleep downstairs before he pulled out his phone.

“Hey Uncle Peter,” came the bright but suspicious voice on the other side. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble again?”

“Of course not Cora.”

“Really? Cause your voice sounds like your hiding something. Maybe something you want to keep from a certain alpha?”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. That was why he picked Cora. Because she was smart as a whip and didn’t take anyone’s word for anything. She was the most like him.

“I need your help, yes, but I’m not in trouble and it’s not a secret.” Not entirely, at least. 

“I’m listening.”

“I’m working on a case and have an excess of information. I need help sorting through it.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“The satisfaction of a job well done.”

Cora’s laughter was bright through the phone. Peter smile as well. It was nice to hear someone laugh. God knows, it had been missing from the house long enough. 

“I’ll pay you.” Peter assured, knowing her propensity for fashion was as strong and expensive as his own and that her mother didn’t give her enough allowance to afford it. “20 bucks an hour, as long as you actually work and stay off your phone.”

“Deal.”

“Good. Be here in an hour.”

Cora said her goodbye and Peter hung up, looking at the piles of work in his office. He had made a good decision. Cora would do better than any of his assistants or paralegals. even if he would trust them with something as precious as this. She was pre-law and had a mind for puzzles. Plus, Peter wouldn’t have to have a stranger coming into his office and smelling it up like outsiders. And Stiles wouldn't have to deal with the stress of meeting someone new and. 

“Shit.”

Stiles had never met Cora. Hell, he had never met any of the pack except for Derek, and that hardly counted. Peter needed to do some damage control, and quickly.

\---------  
Peter raced down the stairs, planning on telling Chris what was going on so they could come up with a plan for Stiles. Maybe they could keep him out of the house the whole time Cora was there. There was a family of foxes with newborn kits in the woods that Stiles had been talking about. Maybe they could go watch them play. He was really starting to like the woods, something the wolf in Peter had noticed and loved. 

Peter stopped short in the living room, heart melting at the tender scene before him. 

Chris and Stiles were curled up on the couch, Stiles against Chris side, Chris arm thrown over Stiles shoulders. They were both asleep; Chris snoring slightly. 

It was sweet and Peter hated to disturb them. But if he knew his niece, she was probably already on her way. She didn’t joke when it came to money. 

Peter crept over to the couch and ran his hand over the back of Chris’ head, trying to wake him gently. 

Chris woke with a start, but immediately calmed when he saw Peter. 

“What’s going on?”

Peter motioned for his husband to follow him to the dining room, just out of earshot in case Stiles woke. Chris carefully dislodged himself from the younger man, brushing a kiss over his forehead. Stiles murmured something but didn’t wake. 

“What’s going on?” Chris repeated, eyes fixed on Stiles. 

“Cora is coming over to help me.”

It took a minute for the implications to click in Chris’ eyes.

“Shit. I mean, it’s a good idea, but shit.”

“Yep. I though you could get him out of the house, maybe out in the woods? I’ll have her park in the garage and then hide upstairs the whole time. He doesn’t really need to know she’s here.”

Chris shook his head. “It will be worse if he thinks we are keeping things from him. I’ll wake him, explain what’s going on. Then once they have met, we can go outside and give you guys your space.”

\-------  
Stiles, to his credit, didn’t appear to be concerned at all, once Chris explained what was going on. He glanced at Peter, then nodded, a forced smile on his face as he assured Chris that it was fine. If Peter couldn’t smell the anxiety pouring off him, he would believe the younger man.

Cora showed up only a few minutes later, pulling up all too fast in the Camaro that Peter knew she must have stolen from Derek. She jumped out of the car and ran up the stairs to the front door. 

“Take it easy.” Peter said before opening the door, quietly enough that Stiles, who was watching her through the living room window, couldn’t hear but loud enough for the other werewolf. “Go slow. Stiles is a bit nervous.”

That was an understatement. He was practically vibrating with anxiety, but Peter had to give him credit. He wasn’t running or collapsing into to heap on the floor, face carefully blank and chin up. He stood slightly behind Chris, out of the way, but still close enough to greet Cora. He looked up at Peter, giving a slight nod. 

Peter threw open the door and got an armful of his niece as she threw herself at Peter with a grin. He could feel her rubbing her face in his neck, scenting him in the familiar way of pack.

Peter smiled as well, not putting her down as he closed the door. She smelled like pack, like home and love. He had missed her. Hell, he missed all of them. The monthly pack runs weren’t enough but he didn’t know how to spend more time with them, not with everything going on at his own house. 

“Missed you too pup.” Peter said, finally breaking away before Stiles got the wrong idea of his relationship with his niece. To an outside eye, pack relationship could look a twisted, too close and too passionate. He didn’t want to add any of those worries to his soulmate own. 

“Nice to see you Cora. We’ve missed having you around.” Chris echoed, moving in to give Cora a quick hug as well. 

“And, as I’m sure you’ve figured out, this is Stiles.”

Stiles took a half step out from behind Chris and waved, a tense smile on his face. 

Core made a move to grab him in a hug as well, greeting him as one would a pack member, only to have Peter pull her to a hard stop with a hand on her shoulder. He shook his head slightly, as Cora’s brows pulled down. 

“Hey, I’m Cora.” She had caught onto the no touching rule quickly and didn’t move forward this time. Stiles seemed to calm slightly with the distance. 

“Hey.”

The silence drug out awkwardly, but Stiles heart was calming and his nervous scent drifting into something purely Stiles, something that smelled of cherries and oak, something that Peter found intoxicating, on the rare occasions he got to smell it. 

“Well, Cora, we better get to it.” Peter gestured at the stairs, sharing an encouraging look with his husband about how good this was going. 

“Are you a lawyer too?” Stiles spoke up unexpectedly.

Cora snorted and rolled her eyes instead of answering, so Peter spoke for her. “No, she isn’t. Not yet, anyways.”

“Then why are you here? If you’re not a lawyer, how are you going to help?”

“Cora’s still in college, what going into your junior year?”

Chris jumped in almost speaking over Stiles as he frowned. Peter did too. Stiles had picked up on the oddness of the situation quickly, and Peter was sure that if he put his mind to it, he could unravel the truth. 

Cora nodded as Chris continued on. “But she is pre-law. Hey, you guys are about the same age. I bet you were in the same class. She went to Beacon Hills too.”

Immediately Stiles heart rate spiked, and the bitter scent of anxiety filled the room. Stiles stepped back behind Chris, hiding again. 

“I don’t remember.”

Cora’s face fell, nose wrinkling as the smell of panic reached her. “Yeah we were. You were the one who always gave Mr. Harris so much trouble, always calling him out when he was wrong. Served him right too.”

“I don’t remember.” Stiles repeated, taking another step away, shaking his head as his hands began to pull on his head. Peter frowned. They needed to cut his hair if he was going to keep doing that. Or better yet, stop giving him reasons to do it. 

Chris turned his back on Peter and Cora as he gathered Stiles into his arms just as the sobs started, though there was no scent of salty tears, only fear. Peter watched worriedly.

This attack was much worse than the others that he had been managing to hide, though at least he stayed conscious, managing to sputter out words between the gasps. 

“I can’t remember. I should be able to remember it. Why can’t I remember her? Chris, what else have I forgotten? What don’t I remember?”

The idea of not remembering seemed to frighten Stiles almost as much as bringing up his disappearance. Peter wondered if the two were connected. There were certain creatures out there that could manipulate memory, certain fae, witches, alpha wolves. Maybe Stiles had run into one. 

Maybe this whole thing was a little more supernatural than he originally thought. 

Or perhaps it was simply the trauma, making blank spaces where their shouldn't be, wiping out things that were once important. 

Chris murmured assurances that he was fine even as Stiles questions spiraled down into the panic attack that Peter had been expecting, granted for different reason. His knees gave out and Chris lowered him to sit on the ground, coaching him to breathe, telling him it was alright, that they would figure everything out. That he was safe, that he was loved, but Stiles was too far gone to listen. He simply sobbed tearlessly and rocked back and forth. 

Cora look horrified, staring at the scene before her, hands over her open mouth. Peter wasn’t sure if she was about to rush to Stiles and hug him or run out the front door. Peter refused to let her do either, as each option would likely upset Stiles more. Instead he encouraged her up the stairs and into his office away from the overwhelming scents, only to have her burst into tears as soon as the door closed. 

“I didn’t know.” She wailed. “I know you told mom he was bad, but I didn’t know it was like that. He’s hurt so badly. He’s so hurt.”

Peter gathered her in close. “I’m sorry. I know it was a lot.”

He had genuinely forgotten that not everyone’s house reeked like pain and suffering, not everyone lived in constant fear. He should have warned her better, made sure Cora understood the gravity of the situation before calling her. 

“It’s okay.” Peter assured her, as she calmed down enough to hiccup her way through an apology. “Don’t apologize for being empathetic. It’s part of what makes you the wonderful person you are”

Cora nodded, wiping her eyes. 

“But, full disclosure here, the files I called you to come help with are all about Stiles. About his disappearance. If that’s too much for you, you need to let me know right now. There is no need for you to upset yourself.”

Cora looked around at the room packed full of boxes overflowing with files, making connections quickly with her brilliant mind as she skimmed over the name on records.

“You’re trying to figure out who kidnapped him.”

It wasn’t really a question, but Peter answered all the same.

“Yes.”

“And then we’ll hunt them down? As a pack?” Cora let her teeth grow long and her eyes flashed a beta gold. 

“Yes. I promise that if I find them, I will call your mother and we will rip those bastards apart.”

He would make them scream so fucking loud, beg for mercy as he took them apart, ripped them limb from limb. They would pay for every ounce of pain they cause tenfold. 

“Good." Her grin was feral. "Then I want to help.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit these next few chapters are a bit redundant because Peter spends a lot of time trying to figure out what we already know; that Stiles was kidnapped by the alpha pack. But, there is also plenty of fluff and bonding, so read it for that, if nothing else. Enjoy!

They managed to do a fair amount of work considering it was already late in the day. Cora’s clever mind was excellent for sorting out the files, and she was unusually quiet and focused, subdued from her realizations about Stiles. 

Peter, on the other hand, was struggling. 

He had managed to sort the reports into three main piles, based off the officer who was writing them and what their theory about Stiles disappearance was. 

The most prominently, as well as the official story, was that Stiles simply ran away from home. It was the mostly common reason for a teenager to go missing. It was also the story the FBI told. 

Peter didn’t believe it for a second. 

Stiles had no reason to run away. His father and he seemed to have a good relationship. By all accounts, they were closer than most father and sons, likely because they were each other’s entire family. Stiles had a few friends, mostly Scott McCall, but a few others were mentioned. He was in several extracurricular activities, lacrosse, and a couple of after school clubs. He was never in serious trouble at school, baring a few detentions for having a smart mouth, and he was never in with the crowd that partied or did drugs. 

There had been some mentions of him being bulling, but only during year before. Overall, his grades were good, his home life was good, and his attitude was good. He wasn’t the sort of kid to run off. 

But even if there hadn’t been any evidence, Peter still would have known that Stiles hadn’t just run off. He felt it in his bones; he knew it the same way his wolf knew the moon. Stiles wasn’t the kind of person to leave behind anyone he loved, and he had loved and been loved by so many people. 

But Peter still read all of the files that claimed Stiles ran. He needed to understand the evidence, even if he didn’t believe it. Even if it broke his heart to read about the strong, happy, outgoing young man who never got the chance to grow to be the man he was meant to be. 

The second option was that Stiles was kidnapped, and the option that Peter was sure was the truth. Even without reading between the lines of Stiles mutterings when he was spiraling down, it made the most sense to why he never came home. He didn’t come home because he couldn’t. 

It was also the theory that the Sheriff had conducted the investigation believing, though ultimately he did not manage to get it on the official record, simply because there was never a ransom demand. Most of the senior officers, the ones that likely knew Stiles since he was a kid, agreed with him and helped conduct searches in the abandoned building and drug dens of Beacon Hills, hoping to find him being held. 

There was evidence to support kidnapping. Stiles hadn’t taken any clothes, or even his phone, like he would have if he left willingly. No bus or train ticket was purchased by anyone who looked like Stiles.

Hell, there was even a short report that stated a gas station clerk might have even seen Stiles and a man arguing outside that night he went missing. It seemed to almost prove he was taken. The clerk was too stoned to be sure of it, but he said he saw a kid in a red hoodie who seemed upset, who tried to leave but was stopped by the other man. There wasn’t anything else on that side of town but an old abandoned distillery, no reason for Stiles to be out there unless he was taken there. 

Then the FBI, Agent McCall really, stepped in and forced them to stop looking for Stiles as kidnapped, claiming that the clerk was simply lying for attention. He argued Stiles was in the wrong age group to have been taken and that there was no motive. The clerk later recanted his story, saying he was confused. Peter wondered if the FBI had some sort of motive to keep the clerk quiet but filed it away to be worried about later, once he had more information. 

Which brought him to the last theory, that Stiles had simply gotten lost in the woods and had presumably died. It was unlikely, and not simply because Stiles was very much alive. Scott said Stiles sometimes wondered the paths near his house when he couldn’t sleep, but there was nothing to suggest that Stiles had been out there the night he disappeared. None of the deputies were inclined to think he was out there, but at the FBI’s insistence, as well as a last hope, a search party was formed. 

Peter remembered it. He didn’t search, he had been too busy staring his company at the time, but Chris, Talia and Derek had. They had told him about the indescribable awfulness of searching for a child, the helplessness of the Sheriff, the look on his face as hours went by and there were no signs of Stiles.

The worst part, the most fucking heartbreaking moment, was when Peter found the report that documented how, the fifth day of Stiles disappearance, the Sheriff gave the okay to drag the lake for his son’s body. The Sheriff’s report was brief, stating only that no body was found. It cut off after that, and even now Peter could smell the tear stains on the paper. Peter had to fight to keep his own eyes from watering.

Peter signed, then told Cora to put away all reports that suggested Stiles ran away or got lost. They wouldn't be useful. 

The kidnapping reports were full of good information, but they didn’t get Peter any close to figuring out why someone would take Stiles. He was going to have to read the files especially the Sheriff’s, over and over, hunt down leads the police didn’t, use his less than legal contacts, and ultimately, hope to catch a lucky break. 

Peter looked up from his work when he heard Cora’s stomach growl. She gave him a sheepish look, but didn’t complain or ask to stop, but her eyes were tired. 

Peter checked the time and found it was far later than he thought.

“That’s enough for today.” 

“Did you find anything?” Cora asked, apparently having stayed silent out consideration for Peter’s concentration. 

“Plenty.” Peter said, unwilling to elaborate on it with his niece. He didn’t want to give her false hope, or worse, get her upset at the wrong parties. Peter knew what happened to young werewolves who went off seeking revenge. 

They walked downstairs to find the delicious smell of roasted pork.

“We made BBQ.” Chris said, stepping out of the kitchen. Peter could hear Stiles in the dining room, presumable setting the table. “There’s plenty if you care to stay Cora.”

“I couldn’t,” The she-wolf smelled nervous.

“I made mac and cheese.” Stiles said, coming out as well, looking as calm as he ever did, fingers drumming on his leg. “Chris said it’s your favorite.”

Cora hesitated.

“Please. Don’t leave because of me. Peter and Chris miss you. They miss you all. Please.” Stiles heart didn’t jump, and his face twisted into a hopeful expression, but he was watching Peter not Cora, almost as if searching for approval. 

“That was nice of you Stiles.” Peter said, letting his arm brush against Stiles’ sleeve. The younger man beamed. 

Cora smiled and agreed to stay and eat. 

\-------  
Dinner was largely uneventful, with Chris and Cora carrying most of the conversation. Peter’s mind was too busy whirling over the files he just read to join in. Stiles was quiet as ever but didn’t seem upset to have Cora there, only watchful, any signs of his earlier breakdown gone. He smiled almost proudly when Cora made Chris laugh, catching Peter’s eye.

The food was delicious. Stiles packed up some leftovers for Cora to take home, giving her all the mac and cheese. Peter was sure it would be devoured in minutes. The boy was a good cook, and BBQ was a personal favorite of his, one he didn’t often make because of the time it required to prepare. 

Chris and Stiles insisted on cleaned up, saying their nap had left them plenty rested, while Peter snuck away under the premise of finishing up in his office. Instead, he moved up and down the stairs quietly, wanting to surprise his soulmates. He had a wonderful and possibly terrible idea, depending on how Stiles handled it. An idea of how the whole family might get more sleep on a regular basis, if he could get his soulmates to agree.

They all went to bed around the same time most nights, Stiles changing then waiting for his nightly hug outside the library, and tonight was no different. Peter waited until they had broken apart from the hug, to call out for Stiles to come into their bedroom, something he had never done before. 

Stiles came in without hesitation, followed by Chris, who had a curious expression on his face. 

“What’s up Peter?” Stiles said, as he hit the door frame. “What did you need?”

He trailed off, going still as he took in the modifications Peter had just finished making to the bedroom.

The bedroom normally had an impressive king-sized bed in the middle of the room that was flanked by two sturdy nightstands on with lamps on each side, a few comfortable chairs set up to the side, for reading or relaxing and a large dresser that took up most of the wall. It was the typical bedroom for a well-to-do couple, minus the irritating TV some many people had in the bedroom. Peter didn’t like them. He found they got in the way of both sex and sleep. 

Only now, the bed wasn’t in the middle. It was pushed to the far-left side, as the sitting chairs were now gone. And there was another mattress set up on the floor, missing the frame, made up with sheets and blankets. 

“Peter what did you do?” Chris rounded on Peter, judgement in his eyes. 

“You’re not sleeping. He isn’t sleeping. Now maybe you both can get some rest, because you can see that the other is still safe.” 

Not to mention Peter could too.

Chris brow was furrowed, his face pinched. For half a second, Peter thought Chris was going to punch him. It wouldn’t be the first time, but it was an experience Peter didn’t enjoy. Instead, Chris threw himself at his husband, wrapping him in a tight hug before breaking away to watch Stiles. 

Stiles continued to look at the mattress, scent layered with so many different smells that Peter couldn’t sort them out. 

Peter and Chris let him take his time, let him walk around the mattress a few times. Neither man was in any hurry.

“You want me to sleep in here with you?” Stiles finally asked, turning to them, uncertainty written across his face. 

“Yes.”

“Sleep?”

Peter didn’t even roll his eyes. 

“Sleep. Only to sleep.” Peter walked slowly over to the younger man and put a hand on both of his shoulders. 

“I swear to you that we only want to sleep. No one will hurt you or force you to do anything.”

Stiles met his eyes and Peter was struck by the depths in the amber eyes. The was a whole world in them, a world Peter hoped wouldn’t haunt Stiles forever. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, and climbed onto his mattress without any fanfare. He settled in restlessly, gaze fixed on Chris, who in turn climbed into his own bed, Peter joining him.

“We’ll get you a frame soon. I didn’t have time to get one tonight.” 

“This is fine.”

Chris’ hand found Peter’s under the covers. “Alright.”

Peter turned off the light, grateful for how well it had gone. 

Stiles fell asleep fairly quickly, heartbeat slowing as his breathing evened out. Peter wondered how long it had been since Stiles fell asleep that easily. It was soothing and Peter felt himself relaxing as well. 

He was nearly asleep when Chris spoke quietly into the dark.

“Are you sure about this Peter? I won’t have sex with you if Stiles is in the room. Not to mention, I know the bedroom was the last place you could really be, you know, yourself?”

Peter rolled over to face his husband, face clear even in the pitch-black room. 

“I wouldn’t dream of having sex with Stiles in the room.” Peter shuttered at the thought. God only knew what that would do to the kid’s psyche. “And it’s not like we have been having much sex anyway.”

It wasn’t an accusation, only an observation. They had both been too busy and too tired to do much more than occasionally jerk each other off. All that having Stiles sleeping with them meant that if they wanted to do that, they would have to do it locked in the bathroom. 

“And,” Peter continued “I think I have enough control to manage any wolfen tendencies I might display, even in the bedroom.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Peter knew what he meant. He meant that Peter woke up with glowing eyes, more often than not and growled more than talked for the first moments of wakefulness. Chris was comfortable with it, so Peter never even tried to stop the wolf from showing. 

But he would now. He would if it meant both his mates could sleep soundly. He would rip out his wolf and live his life as human if it kept them happy.

“I know. And it’s fine. I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t sure. Now, get some sleep. That was the point of this, after all.”

Chris pressed his lips softly against Peter’s then closed his eyes.

\--------  
Both of Peter’s soulmates slept soundly, or at least better. Apparently moving Stiles into their bedroom was a good idea. 

Chris slept like the dead, not even tossing and turning in the night, like was normal for him. Peter held out hope that maybe now Chris wouldn’t look so pale, so tired and worn down. 

Stiles slept, which was all Peter could really ask for. He woke a few times, heart racing from what was clearly a nightmare. Both times he fell back asleep though, after quietly whispering to himself, Peter and Chris, Peter and Chris, like a mantra, until his heartbeat evened out. For now, Peter would take it. 

Peter, on the other hand, hardly slept at all. His mind was too busy sorting out everything he had been working on with Cora. 

He knew Stiles had been kidnapped, no matter what the FBI and official police report said. He just had to figure out who had done it, and so far, he really had no leads, because the police had no leads. He was going to have to conduct his own investigation, which much less resources than the police. And who know how long that might take. 

Not to mention the nagging feeling in Peter’s head that there was something he was missing. Something big. 

He brought it up with Chris while they were getting ready in the master bathroom the next morning. Stiles said he preferred to use the one across from the library, so they had their privacy. 

“Do you think Stiles knows about werewolves?”

Chris’ hand slipped, nicking his chin with his razor. Peter handed him a tissue. 

“Why do you say that?”

Peter shrugged. His major concern was the way Stiles had reacted when they had first met, though there had been other little things here and there. His body language was submissive in an animalistic way. He was sensitive to touch, very aware of where people where in a room. Not to mention, werewolves were almost the only creatures that could make someone disappear completely without a trace and manipulate memory. 

Then again, those were all signs of severe abuse for an extended time, and there were a few humans capable of disappearing someone.

“It’s mostly a hunch.”

Chris rinsed his razor, watching Peter in the mirror. “No. I don’t think so.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

Chris have him an equality unimpressed look. “Stiles can keep secrets, sure. But knowing about werewolves? He would have slipped up by now. Besides, he’s sleeping in our room. Do you think he would do that if he knew you were a wolf?”

“You did.”

“It’s not the same and you know it.” Chris smiled, and twisted his head back to give Peter a kiss, exposing his throat and sending a little thrill through the wolf. “I get why you think that. But I think maybe you’re just seeing supernatural elements, because your supernatural. It’s like once you buy a silver car, all you see are silver cars."

As much as he hated to admit it, Chris was right. It was a stretch, even if werewolves would explain a lot. He put it aside for now, though he didn’t give it up completely. He couldn’t, not until he at least talked with Talia and got her thoughts as alpha.

It was all frustrating, the utterly useless files and the stupid theories. Peter felt like he was running in place, stuck and slow, as the days passed, and he came up empty. 

At least things started to get better at home, emotionally speaking, almost making up for Peter’s frustration. Moving Stiles into the bedroom was the best thing Peter could have done. Peter didn’t always make it home, considering his work, but when he did, it was amazing to drift asleep to both of his soulmates’ steady heartbeats. In fact, he started choosing to make the drive home instead of staying at the apartment, even on late nights that had early mornings the next day. The room smelled like Stiles and Chris.

It smelled like safety. It smelled like pack. 

And with the better rest, Stiles had started to have less panic attacks and Chris just looked better. Less worn, and old. It made the wolf howling in Peter’s chest quiet, at least a little bit, for now. 

At least until he was able to figure out the identities of the people who took Stiles. Once they were ripped into tiny pieces and scattered all over the state, then his inner wolf might finally be at peace. 

\--------  
Peter kept on the hunt. 

Agent McCall called Peter first thing Monday morning that week after Peter had emailed the FBI. Peter, who had gone early exactly because he had expected the call, picked up the phone feeling particularly feisty. 

“Peter Hale speaking.”

“Mr. Hale, this is Agent McCall. I received an email that you wanted to speak to me.”

The voice was slightly whinny and annoyed, sounding like he would rather be doing anything rather than talking to Peter. Peter smiled. He was going to enjoy taking McCall down a peg or two. 

“Yes. I’m representing Mr. Stilinski regarding misconduct regarding Stiles’ disappearance. I’ll be needing your official files sent to my office as soon as possible. I’ll be happy to pay any appropriate fees to expedite them. I’ll have my secretary give you the receiving information.”

Peter paused, as if he was transferring the call.

“Wait!”

“Yes?” 

“I can’t just give you the files. They’re federal property.”

“Yes, but they have information that directly affects my client. And surely, if there was no wrongdoing, there is no reason not to release them."

“I still can’t release them, I’m afraid.”

“Well then I’ll have a subpoena on your desk by the end of the day. If fact, I should probably go ahead and deal directly with your superiors, since you’re basically useless. Perhaps you can transfer me?”

There was a long pause before McCall spoke again, sounding much less confident than before. 

“Maybe I can tell you the information Stilinski needs. Work something out between the two of us. No need for this to go any further.”

“Alright. I suppose that would be fine.” God, people were so easy to manipulate. “I’ll start at the beginning. Why was the FBI on scene only 24 hours after Stiles was reported missing? That seems a little quick for the government. Not to mention, he wasn’t exactly in your normal investigation bracket, given his age and the nature of his disappearance.”

Another pause, shorter this time. “I went for my son. He was friends with Stiles. After the kid ran away, he begged me to come help find him.”

“But you didn’t find him.”

“Because he didn’t want to be found. He ran away. I don’t know what John has told you, but he wasn’t exactly dad of the year. He has a drinking problem and Stiles basically had to raise himself. The kid had finally had enough and took off. Easy open and shut case. He’s probably in New York somewhere, selling people goat milk facials, or whatever hipsters do these days. And I would appreciate if you would let Stilinski know that I don’t appreciate him dragging this all back up after all these years. Scott doesn’t need a reminder of what he lost. He was a mess after Stiles abandoned him.”

A particularly harsh type of judgment was in McCall’s voice when he said the Stilinski name. The same way there was protectiveness when he said he son’s. There was history there, between he and John but there was also love for his child. Interesting. 

“So the fact that Stiles was found in a quarry a few months ago is news to you?”

Peter could heart McCall’s heart skip even though the phone, though he couldn’t be sure if it was fear or surprise.

“Yes. It would.”

There was beat before McCall started back in, sounding angry this time.

“So that’s why John is trying to sue me. Because his son ended up dead while mine is going to school to be a vet. Figures.”

Peter felt a swell of rage at the way McCall was treating the idea of Stiles’ memory. Like he was a tool that John was supposedly using, not a person.

He let his voice go smooth, dangerous. “Oh, you must have misunderstood me. I’m not representing John. I’m representing Stiles.”

“He’s alive?” McCall sounded like he had been punched.

“Yes. And very curious why he was written off as a runaway. Considering he was kidnapped and tortured for the last four years.”

“I. I didn’t know. There wasn’t any evidence to support kidnapping. No motive, or ransom demands. No grudges against the kid or anything. It looked like a runaway. It had to be a runaway. I told Scott that. I told his friend was safe.”

None of that was a surprise to Peter, but McCall seemed genuinely upset to learn Stiles was kidnapped, at least in how it related to his own son.

“Well, he wasn’t.”

“Tell him I’m sorry. Oh my God. Please. He needs to know I’m sorry.”

Peter let his teeth lengthen and eyes burned blue in a threatening manner, even though McCall couldn’t see.

“Oh no, I won’t be telling him we spoke. You fucked up and that’s all he needs to know. Don’t try to contact him at all, in fact, or I’ll be forced to get an order of protection. And yes, I will be filing a complaint of misconduct with your supervisors, regardless of this lawsuit gains traction or not. Goodbye, Agent McCall.”

Peter hung up the phone, slamming down the receiver, then took a deep breath to find his center and chase away the wolf. He let his features fade back to human before anyone could walk in his office and see. 

McCall was an ass, with a beef with the Sheriff, who had cared more about sucking up to his son, than finding Stiles. But Peter had a hunch he honestly believed Stiles had runaway. Any files the FBI had were likely to be useless because of McCall. He saw the answer he wanted and stopped looking. 

Peter pitied Scott, to have to have been raised by such a stupid man. But at least no he didn’t have to worry about a governmental conspiracy and a cover up by the FBI. Though he did want to pay John a visit and found out what the grudge between he and McCall was. 

The phone call was all he was able to accomplish on Stiles’ case that week, though not for a lack of trying. He was still incredibly busy at work, and even though the popped upstairs to his home office every time he got the chance, he was generally so tired that he found himself thinking in circles. More than once, Chris had to come upstairs to bring him to bed, as Peter had dozed off over the files, until Peter wasn’t allowed in his home office any time except weekends.

\------  
A few days after the phone call, Chris had to drive out to LA to meet with a liaison for his arms deal. It was finally moving forward, much to Peter’s surprise, and Chris was excited. 

Peter chose to stay home from work with Stiles, so that the kid wouldn’t be alone. There was no way he was leaving Stiles by himself. 

Which meant that Peter and Stiles spent the entire day together for the first time, without Chris as a buffer. 

Stiles did well without Chris. He didn’t panic, not even when he watched his soulmate drive away. He spent the day reading, catching up on laundry and picking out a bed frame online for his mattress. 

Peter did slightly less well. He worked downstairs in the dinning room, since his office was full of files that he could not afford to get distracted by. But he couldn’t focus. He was too worried about Stiles, about how he was doing, if he smelled anxious, if needed something. Peter’s fingers drummed on the table as he worked, keeping an ear out for his younger soulmate. 

“Hey Peter?” Stiles called from the kitchen.

“Yes?” Peter said, snapping to attention as he hurried into the kitchen, hyper-aware of his soulmates steady heart and calm scent, waiting tensely for it to change. 

Stiles looked up from the counter where he was filling two mugs with hot water from the kettle. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

Peter rolled his eyes. He was a werewolf. He always felt alright. 

“Alright then. Calm down.” Stiles set a cup of tea in front of him. Chamomile, from the smell of it. 

“What?” Peter asked, incredulously. 

“I can hear your fingers drumming and your clearly not getting anything done. You’re anxious. But Chris will be fine. He’s made the drive before.”

“I’m not, that’s not. I’m not worried about him,” Peter sputtered. 

“Oh.” Stiles cocked his head to the side. “You’re worried about me. Aren’t you?”

Observant little fucker. Peter hesitated as emotions welled up inside him. Because he knew he cared about Stiles. More and more every day, for weeks now, his feelings had been growing. 

But he couldn’t say it. He wanted too. But the words wouldn’t come out. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, unaware of the inner struggle Peter was going though. He headed for the library, taking his own cup of tea with him. 

“It’s fine.” Stiles said, over his shoulder as he walked away. “I’m fine, I promise. I understand. I worry about you too.”

Peter’s heart stuttered and he dropped his head into his hands. He wanted so badly to go into the library and just hold Stiles, hold him forever and keep him safe. But Stiles wasn’t a wolf. He didn’t want the same kind of closeness. It wasn’t a comfort for him, it was a struggle. Stiles could barely handle Chris’ casual touches, much less the snuggles Peter wanted to give. 

So, instead, Peter went back to work. There was always tomorrow. He would tell Stiles how he felt tomorrow. 

\---------  
Chris made it to LA and back one day. He came back with the final gun order, half the money, and a story of a large silent man who had handed over the first half of the funds without even looking Chris in the eye, though he did sniff him rather noticeable. Peter privately speculated the man was a were, but he didn’t say anything. They would never see him again, so it didn’t really matter. 

The weekend came and Peter got up early and snuck upstairs to work on Stiles case for a bit. He couldn’t believe it had only been two weeks since he had gathered the reports. It felt like longer, probably because of the way it had consumed his every waking thought, and even some of his dreams. He started packing away the files he didn’t need, only coming downstairs when he heard the other start to wake. 

Peter made omelets, and was please to find that both his soulmates looked chipper and well, already better than they had the week before. Neither one looked tired, even though Stiles hand shook around his fork and Chris still watched every bite Stiles managed to keep down. Still they were on the right track. 

“Is Cora coming over again?” Stiles asked, pushing his plate away. He had managed half an omelet, full of meat and veggies and didn’t even look sick. 

Peter fixed him with a look. It would be helpful to have a fresh set of eyes, not to mention it had been nice to see. But he was surprised Stiles was the one asking. “Do you want her too?”

Stiles shrugged. “She's fine. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.”

His heart stayed steady, and there was only a hint of uncertainty in his scent. Chris put his hand over Stiles' supportively clearly proud of him.

“I’ll give her a call then,” Peter said.


	13. Chapter 13

"Uncle Peter!”

Peter had an arm full of she-wolf as soon as he opened the door. Peter took in the pure comforting scent of pack as he spun so that she was inside the house. Chris and Peter were in the kitchen cleaning up, so Peter let his eyes burn blue, and Cora flashed her gold ones in return. 

“Hey Uncle Peter.”

Apparently, Cora hadn’t stolen her brother’s car this time. Instead she had brought Derek along. Peter held Cora with one arm and held out the other to his nephew. He moved in for a hug without hesitation. 

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked Derek with a smile, when they finally broke apart. It wasn’t that Derek wasn’t smart, but he wasn’t like Cora. He didn’t enjoy taking mysteries apart. He didn’t have to same drive for answers. There wasn’t any reason for him to try to help with the files.

Derek shrugged as he shut the door behind them, looking, as always, slightly uncomfortable with his leather jacket despite the warm day and his worn out book bag. “Cora asked me to come.”

It sounded like the truth but felt like a lie. Peter gave the younger wolf a calculating stare but before he could say anything, Stiles wandered out of the kitchen, drawn by the sound of the shutting door and coming to a hard stop in the entryway when he saw that it was more than just Cora standing there.

Stiles crossed his arms defensively and frowned, as Derek raised a judgmental eyebrow.

“I brought a book.” Derek said at last, pulling out what appeared to be a graphic novel from his book bag, holding it out for Stiles as an offering. 

Stile stared at him for a long moment, gaze flickering between Derek’s face and the book. His body was tense, like he thought it might be a trick. 

“I thought you might like it.” Cora supplied helpfully from where she was still plastered against Peter’s side. “I remember you were into all that comic book stuff when we were in high school, and Derek suggested this book.”

“It’s a graphic novel.” Derek corrected. Stiles still didn’t move, only stared at the outstretched hands. 

Derek gave up waiting on Stiles to make a decision and swung his bag back on, as he wandered off to the library without another word. 

Stiles, to Peter absolute surprise, followed after shooting a look at Chris who was standing in the door frame.

“Alright then.” Peter said with a shrug, though he couldn’t help the smile that came across his face at Stiles actually volunteering to spend time with someone who wasn’t Chris or Peter. 

\------  
“What do you want me to do?” Cora asked, making herself comfortable in Peter’s chair. “More file sorting?”

“No. I’ve basically gotten everything sorted. I’ve already put away the files I don’t think will be useful.”

“Which is?”

“Anything that treats the investigation like anything other than a kidnapping.”

“Then what do I do?” Cora repeated.

Peter wanted to focus on motive right now. Because, as McCall had pointed out, there had never been a ransom note or phone call. So, the kidnappers weren’t after money.

But the Sheriff had political pull. And whoever had his son, could control him absolutely, in every way.

Which meant that Peter was going to take a good long look at the beloved Beacon Hills Sheriff and the skeletons he was hiding in the closet. But he didn’t want to involve Cora with that directly, considering that all his research methods weren’t exactly legal. Plausible deniability and all that. 

“Why don’t you take a look at the interview of Stiles’ friends a little more closely? Start with Scott and work your way down based on how well they knew Stiles.” 

God knew Scott’s father had secrets. Maybe Scott did too. 

While Cora worked on that, Peter fired up his laptop. He dug into the life of John M Stilinski, using all his resources, legal and slightly less legal. 

By the time Chris came up to bring up some sandwiches for lunch, Peter had a pretty good timeline for the good Sheriff. 

John had been born in California, a few counties over from Beacon Hills actually. A good athlete in school, though he grades weren’t anything to get excited about. Joined the army right out of high school. Did two tours, and apparently met Claudia Gajos sometimes between them. Left the army with a Silver Star then immediately joined the police force in Beacon Hills, where he married Claudia. 

Stiles was born almost five years later. Five years after that, John was elected Sheriff. Three years later, Claudia died.

Nowhere in any of that were the any reports of misconduct or anything other than professional behavior. Sure, he had a few complains, but most of them came from known crack heads and didn’t have any merit. 

John didn’t seem to have any enemies, nor could Peter find any hit of why Agent McCall would have such a problem with him, professionally or personally. 

All of his police policies were fair, though the Sheriff did have a rather interesting policy on drugs, one that had received lots of media attention, as it had required the cooperation of not just the police, but also the county judges and even the major.

Anyone who was found in possession of any controlled substance was sentenced to inpatient or outpatient treatment at the local drug treatment center. Anyone who was arrested with the intent to deal, went to jail for half their sentence, then finished at the treatment center, where they learned how to function in the real world without drugs. 

People had complained when the Sheriff first convinced the city to build the center and then after he pushed for that kind of drug laws. But apparently it worked because drug related crime was essentially nonexistent in Beacon Hills

But even with his radical stance on drugs, he didn’t have any extreme political leaning to in the right or the left. He had run unopposed every year since he was elected, likely because crime had been on a steady decline since he took office. 

Except once. Peter found an article, dated the earlier the same year that Stiles went missing, that claimed his approval rating were falling, and that he would be out of office in the next election. Then Stiles went missing, and suddenly he ran unopposed yet again. 

But even after Stiles was taken, the Sheriff’s policies didn’t change. He remained as fare and reliable as ever, granted, a lot less energetic, by all accounts. Crime rates remained roughly the same, that was to say low. So, it didn’t seem that the Sheriff had received some sort of off the record demand to change the way he was policing. 

In fact, between the Sheriff’s efforts and the Hale pack’s ability to police the supernatural elements, Beacon Hills was one of the safest places in the state.

“Why would you kidnap the Sheriff’s son, then never send any sort of ransom note?” Peter asked Chris as he dropped of the food.

“Maybe they did. Maybe the Sheriff just kept it quiet.”

“If it was, then it wasn’t money. I checked his bank account after McCall brought that up. No large sums in or out. And it wasn’t for a drastic policy change. John is literally the most reliable and steady elected official I have ever seen. It doesn’t make sense to take somebody for no reason.”

“I don’t know. Maybe there wasn’t a motivation. Maybe it was a serial killer or something.” Chris pressed a kiss to his frustrated husband’s cheek, as he flipped through the notes Peter had been making.

“Serial killer instead kidnapper? That really doesn’t make me feel better.”

“It should. Instead of looking for personal motivation, look for other kids who went missing like Stiles. Maybe you can solve more than one crime.”

Peter shuttered at the thought of Stiles at the hands of a serial killer who simply hadn’t managed to finish the job yet. Though it would certainly explain why someone might be back and stalking his soulmate. Serial killers often couldn’t let things go, and Stiles was a major loose end. 

Chris wrapped an arm around him. “Don’t worry. We can keep him safe. How about pizza for dinner. I don’t feel like cooking. Cora, you in?”

“Meat lovers and cheesy bread please.”

“No problem.”

Peter dropped his head to the desk with a thud. 

\------  
The rest of the afternoon passed much the same, with Cora working quietly and Peter getting more and more exasperated with his research. 

Cora, at least, was making good headway. She knew most of the people who's interviews she was reading on some level as she had gone to school with them. So far, she hadn’t found any red flags. She did dissuade some of Peter’s concerns by assuring him that Scott was a complete puppy dog. There was no way he had anything to do with it. He simply wasn’t capable of anything malicious. 

Chris hollered at them to come eat as the pizza arrived. Cora jumped up happily. She had been rather distracted by her phone the last few hours, worn out of looking at the same files all day long. She tore Peter away from his laptop, where he was slowly compiling a list of all missing boys in the age bracket Stiles had been when he went missing, just in case it really was a serial killer that took him. 

Chris was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. He handed the boxes of pizza off to Cora and shooed her off to the dining room and took Peter by the hand.

“Come look at this.”

Chris led him to the library, where Derek and Stiles apparently still were. 

Neither man looked up as Peter and Chris peered around the doorframe, though Derek at least, had to have known they were there. He and Stiles were both in either one of the comfortable chairs, focused on the book in each of their respective hands, the same book if the cover was anything to go by. 

Peter squeezed Chris’ hand hard as he looked at his soulmate, affection for him hitting Peter so hard it almost hurt. Stiles brows were slightly furrowed as he read, but his scent was calm. His heart rate as slow as it ever was while Stiles was awake. 

Peter wished he could smell like that forever, nothing bitter in his scent, only sweetness, cherries and oak, with a hint of something wild. 

“Guys” Cora came in whining, oblivious to the wonder that was happening in the library. “I’m hungry. What are we waiting on?”

The spell was broken as Stiles looked up. He started to shove the book under the chair, standing up quickly, as though he had been caught doing something naughty. His face flushed slightly as his mind caught up to where he was and that fact that he was safe. He stopped hiding the book but didn’t say anything. He tried to hand the book over to Derek, scent starting to go bitter.

Chris started forward, clearly getting ready to comfort Stiles, but Peter held him back, wanting to see if Stiles could calm himself down. 

“You can keep it. I already have a copy.” Derek said, gesturing at his own book and standing as well. “I bought that one for you.”

“Oh.” Stiles didn’t look any more comfortable, but he stopped fidgeting and the scent of his anxiety fell into more reasonable levels. “Thanks.”

“We can put it in your dresser for now. Next week we’ll go to town and get you your own bookshelves. With Derek’s and Peter’s help, you should be able to fill them up quickly.” Chris gestured for them to follow him, laying a hand absentmindedly on Stiles shoulder as they walked.

They ate in the living room instead of the dining room like normal. Pizza called for a less formal atmosphere. Cora and Derek argued over a movie as Peter handed out paper plates, not allowing them to eat straight out of the boxes. Just because they were wolves didn’t mean they had to eat like animals. 

Cora wanted a romance, and Derek like sports films. Chris interjected to halfheartedly suggest another action flick. Stiles watched them bicker with an amused expression on his face, curled up between Peter and Chris’s legs on the floor where Peter had delegated the youngsters. Peter made the final decision after the arguing drug on, putting on the first Hobbit movie. 

“I didn’t know they made a movie of this!” Stiles flung a glob of pizza sauce Cora as he gestured excitedly with his hands. Cora jumped, then laughed, as Derek handed her a napkin. 

It was a wonderful mess of marina sauce and Middle Earth. Peter couldn’t have dreamed of a better Saturday. 

\--------  
“Huh.” 

Cora had been over a few hours already on this cloudy Sunday morning. Derek had chosen to stay home today, but Laura actually had the day off and had come over instead. She was downstairs, teaching Stiles how to make her famous chocolate chip muffins, a Hale family weekend tradition, while Chris caught up on his emails. Stiles had warmed to her bubbly personality quickly, immediately grilling her about her preferred chocolate brands and flour consistency.

“What?” Peter asked, not as sharply as he would have yesterday. 

The movie the night before had gone a long way to relax him. Chris too, if the quickie in the shower was any indication. They had both started the day feeling rejuvenated. 

But his annoyance was slowly mounting again. He had spent the morning continuing to look for children who had been about Stiles’ age when they went missing. He focused on white males with brown hair. 

There were five in the state of California in the last 20 years. Peter had thought there would be more, but apparently not many teenage boys went missing. One had been found alive. He had been kidnapped by his father. One was almost certainly a runaway, as he was a foster kid with a history of taking off. The last three were still missing. 

He hadn’t found any connection to each other, or Stiles. If it was a serial killer, Peter wasn’t going to be the one to catch him. 

Peter found himself wondering yet again if there was a supernatural element somewhere that he was missing. A critical piece in the puzzle, a piece he needed to solve it. 

“This interview.” Peter left his computer and his wandering thoughts to go read over her shoulder. “It’s Isaac Lahey’s. Something seems off about it.”

It was short. Only a few lines long.

“He told the cops to fuck off.” Peter was impressed. Not many people had that kind of balls, much less a kid.

“Yeah, but that’s not the point. He told the police he didn’t know Stiles at all and that he had never talked to him. That they should just go talk to Scott.”

“So?” 

“He lied. Scott says that Stiles had started spending a lot of time after school with Isaac, and that maybe Stiles had gone to hang out with him since Scott was busy the day he went missing. Danny Mahealani and Jackson Whitmore both said something similar, that the two boys hung out after lacrosse practice a lot. Even a few of the teachers mentioned the two them eating together at lunch, because they were glad Isaac was making friends. He was kinda a loner.”

“Just because lied doesn’t mean Isaac knows anything. Maybe they were hooking up and he didn’t want anyone to know. Maybe Stiles was tutoring him.”

Or maybe Isaac did have something to do with it. Peter immediately began making plans to pay Isaac a little visit. 

“No. But that fact that he got arrested for dealing drugs just a few weeks after Stiles went missing might.”

“How do you remember that? That wouldn’t be in these files. Were you friends?”

Cora shrugged. “Not really. I remember Stiles mostly because he went missing, and Isaac because he got arrested. The whole thing was weird. He got caught because an anonymous tip to search his house and they found quite a bit of heroin or something. It wasn’t that he was selling drugs. He had a lot, but he said wasn’t selling them. He claimed that he was holding them for his dealer, but he hadn’t seen him in weeks to get them to him.”

Peter made a motion for her to continue as he went back to the computer to begin doing a general search on the kid. 

“After he got locked up, a bunch of kids came forward and said he had been selling drugs. But they never could prove it.”

“I don’t suppose you know where he is now? Did you keep touch on social media or anything?”

“No.” Cora actually looked a little ashamed. “He never came back to school. Rumors were crazy. Everything from he killed himself in jail, to he ran away to Brazil.”

Cora ended up being half right. Isaac Lahey had been missing since he was released from jail. Vanished off the face of the earth at eighteen, only he didn’t have a father with the full force of a police department looking for him. No one had even filed a missing person’s report. But he hadn’t ever paid taxes, owned any property, paid any rent, taken out any credit in his name. He was either dead, or very good at hiding. 

“So our only lead is useless.” Peter said, finally giving up yet again, only this time it was worse because he was officially out of ideas. He was tempted to shift and go for a run to clear his head, but Cora was there rubbing his arm sympathetically, so he forced himself to remain human. 

“Why don’t we just ask Stiles? Even if he doesn’t know their names or whatever, surely, he could describe them. Does he have brain damage or something and can’t remember?” Cora asked.

“I don’t know.” Peter immediately thought of Stiles pulling at his hair as he sobbed because he didn’t know that Cora had been in high school with him. “I’m not sure what all he remembers.”

Cora made a face. “That’s weird. It was traumatic, sure, but to not remember it at all...”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know if he does or not. He won’t talk about it.”

Fuck. All this talk of memories reminded Peter that he had meant to call Talia last week, to ask if she knew anything about any supernatural dealings around the time Stiles went missing. But he had gotten busy with work, then with Chris being gone. It had slipped through the cracks. 

He pulled out his phone and dialed. Peter didn’t even wait for her to say hello, mind running a million miles an hour. 

“Where is the nearest pack from here?”

“Nice to talk to you too Peter. How are the kids? How are the muffins?”

Peter growled at his sister and she huffed in return.

“The Miles pack in Nevada or the Diaz family New Mexico. Either way, it’s not close. All the other packs are still on the east coast fighting over territory.”

Peter scoffed. It was a bit of an oxymoron. Werewolves were territorial by nature and stayed where they were born. But most packs in the US were transplants from Europe, running to escape persecution like all the other immigrants. Each pack picked a territory in the new world long ago when they first settled, but they didn’t take into consideration the increase in population and urbanization. Now, the territories were far to settled by humans, making it impossible to even run at the moon. But even now, the packs refused to leave it, leaving the west largely unclaimed and the east heavily populated and volatile. 

Talia continued on without pausing. “Neither pack has drifted onto our territory in years. Why?

“Do you remember any rouge werewolves around when Stiles was kidnapped? Any alpha that might have split off from a pack and come here?”

Cora made a soft noise, as she understood where Peter was going. An alpha werewolf could manipulate memory, take them or give them, explaining Stiles troubles remembering. 

“Peter,” Talia’s voice was soft, kind. “Peter, there wasn’t. I already checked, when the boy first went missing. He vanished so completely, I thought I might be our sort of thing. There weren’t any werewolves in town, alpha or otherwise.”

“But alpha’s can mask their scent. They could have been here, they could still be here, and we wouldn’t know. Not unless we actually saw them shift.”

“They would have to be strong, very strong to hide their scents from me. Strong than any alpha I have ever met.” It wasn’t bragging, not exactly. The Hale pack wasn’t large, but it was fierce, close knit and old. “And alpha strong enough to do so would have to have a large pack that they would have had to bring with them. I would have noticed something.”

Peter was so frustrated he wanted to cry. He had really though he was onto something. An alpha, a werewolf taking Stiles, it just made so much sense. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Peter didn’t want to talk to his sister right now. He wanted to go downstairs and hug Stiles, to beg him for forgiveness for not being able to solve this. 

“Peter, it’s not your fault.”

Fuck. Talia knew him so well. 

“Bye.” Peter hung up the phone. 

Cora came around the desk, but didn’t move in for a hug, knowing Peter wasn’t in the mood to be touched by her right now. 

“Come on.” Her voice was soft, just like her mothers. “Let’s go get some muffins.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a tiny bit of smut in this chapter, nothing too graphic, but fair warning if it's not your thing.

The muffins were delicious, all hot and chocolaty. They had also led to some sort of baking revolution for Chris, Laura and Stiles. In addition to the muffins, there was a breakfast casserole, a chicken pot pie, some sort of strawberry jam with biscuits, and sugar cookies. It was an odd brunch selection, but no one seemed to mind, if the empty plates were anything to go by. Peter particularly enjoyed the sugar cookies, apprenticing the light airy texture. He had a sweet tooth but wasn’t much of a baker. 

Chris insisted that Cora and Peter take a break after they ate, claiming that Laura so rarely had a day off that it would be a shame to waste it.

“What do you do for a living?” Stiles asked Laura, as he cleared empty plates away. Chris and Cora were already in the kitchen working on the dirty dishes, but Laura and Peter were finishing their meal with coffee.

“I’m a deputy in Beacon Hills.”

Stiles froze but before Peter could say anything to warn Laura about the minefield she was stepping into, he was moving again, though his motions were now stiffer.

“That sounds like a good job.”

Laura smiled calmly, brushing against Stiles as she grabbed up her own plate to clear away. He didn’t even flinch. “It is. Your father is a good man to work for.”

It was Peter’s turn to freeze. Stiles hadn’t spoken to his father since their fight, and other than weekly updates from Chris about Stiles’ medical status, no one else had either. Stiles was fine medically speaking, except for some stiffness and aches when it rained, so those conversations were very short. Other than that, no one talked to, or about the Sheriff.

To Peter’s surprise, Stiles smiled softly, looking down at the floor, but smelling of pride. “I know.”

\-----  
They ended up in the pool. The sun had peaked out as morning became afternoon, and it was plenty hot now that summer was in full swing. Cora and Peter lounged on the chairs, worn out from all their thinking, but the others swam, playing keep away with a ball Chris found somewhere. 

“You know what this pool needs?” Stiles asked, eyes shining in the sun. His long hair was dripping water down his face, but he didn’t wipe it away. “A diving board.”

“Or a slide!” Laura added from where she was now sunbathing on a raft.

“It’s a swimming pool. Not a playing pool.” Chris’ voice sounded stern, but Peter knew his husband well enough to know he was grinning. 

“It’s for laps.” Peter added from his seat, not opening he eyes. His skin was pleasantly warm, and he was comfortable, even as his mind sorted analytically through everything he had learned today while Cora snored beside him. 

So many theories and so little evidence had left him so fucking frustrated. 

Peter didn’t think it was a serial killer, not really. It didn’t feel right. It felt personal, somehow, which led him back to someone being after John. But, after learning that Isaac, Stiles new friend, was dealing drugs, he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t related to that. Drugs and money were powerful motivators, but still it didn’t feel quite right either. 

Which left him with the supernatural but in all the evidence he has sorted through, very little actually pointed to werewolves, or witches, or anything. And besides, surely if Stiles knew about the supernatural, he would have said something, he would have given himself away, on accident or on purpose. 

But maybe not. Stiles played things close to the vest. 

Once again, Peter felt the overwhelming hopelessness of knowing he was playing a game while only seeing half the board. 

Peter opened his eyes in time to see Stiles splash Chris and laugh, looking radiant in the sun. Peter’s heart hurt to watch it, and he wasn’t sure why. 

\------  
Peter had planned on catching Chris up with his musings that night in bed, after Stile had dropped off. 

But for the first time, Stiles didn’t go right to bed, laying it the dark until his heartbeat finally evened out. 

Instead, he asked Chris to leave the light on, as he scrolled through his phone, looking up recipes with one hand, and making a grocery list with the other. He chattered on and on about things like starter dough for sourdough bread and the proper sifting techniques. 

Peter’s long days caught up with him, and he fell asleep to the lovely sound of the quiet murmurings of his soulmates. 

The next day, Peter overslept and had to rush out the door, Stiles throwing him a muffin as he hurried on his way. 

His day was full of meeting, and stupid clients, and job interviews to finally fill that assistant position that had been empty for ages. 

Talia called him but he missed it due to his packed schedule. She left a voicemail saying she would be out of the territory for a while, which pissed Peter off. The last thing they needed right now was a territory without an alpha. He called her back to yell, but she was already on a plane and had her phone off. He was able to get a hold of James, Talia’s husband and second, who assured Peter that she would only be gone a few days, but it still left Peter feeling off kilter and short-tempered. 

He came home feeling worn out and dull, wanting nothing more than to sit on the couch and watch mindless TV. 

When he had walked into the house, however, he was both surprised and pleased to find the scent of both Cora and Nora as well as Stiles. He wandered into the living room to find both girls bookending a rather stiff-looking Stiles on the couch, watching the latest Zack Efron movie. He paused for a moment, taking stock of Stiles, but his heart was steady, and he didn’t seem nervous, so Peter simply walked in as though this was normal. 

“Ladies. Stiles.” He greeted, toeing off his shoes and loosening his tie before flopping down next to them. 

Cora shushed him, but Nora leaned over and gave him a quick hug before refocusing on the movie. Peter waited a beat, then interrupted again. 

“Where’s Chris? He never misses out an academy winning movie such as this?” Peter said sarcastically as he rolled his eyes at the main characters kissed in the rain, after the boy saved the girl from a certain death, from being kicked by a horse of all things. 

Both girls shushed him this time, but Stiles laughed, clearly not into the film as he was now playing on his phone, reading wiki by the look of it. 

“He had to work. He’s upstairs, but Cora came by with Nora and the ‘greatest’ films of the last four years. Which we are currently working thought.”

“Number five!” Nora exclaimed. She had always been a sucker for chick flicks, as the most romantic of the family. 

“I see.” Peter suspected Cora had been called by an overworked and overwhelmed Chris who needed a Stiles break, but it was nice that the younger man trusted Cora enough to stay downstairs alone without her, no matter how uncomfortable his body language was. 

“But now you’re home Uncle Peter and you can drive us to go get snacks.” Cora said, as the credits rolled. She slid off the couch to take out the movie before grabbing the next on in the stack, putting it in but not starting it.

Peter groaned. “Why can you drive yourself?”

“Derek dropped us off. But if you want, we can take your car and drive ourselves.”

Peter shuttered. There was a reason neither girl had their own vehicle. Both were wild and reckless drives, a family trait actually. There had been five cars totaled between them, before Talia put her foot down and decided that no kid would have a car unless they were paying for it themselves, hence the younger Hales all sharing Laura’s hand me down Camaro, though in Derek’s case it seemed to be more out of fondness for the car, as he had a job and the ability to buy his own at any time. 

“Let me get changed.” 

Cora fake cheered as Nora giggled. Stiles continued to read on his phone, but his scent slid into something more relaxed, and Peter’s wolf felt a bit a pride that it was because of him. 

\---------  
Peter refused to go all the way into Beacon Hills just for junk food, so they ended up at a crappy gas station a few miles from their house. The girls made a beeline for the ice cream, while Stiles wandered the aisle looking at the candy but never picking anything up.

“You can get something.” Peter encouraged, grabbing a Snickers for himself and a plain Hersey bar for Chris. 

Stiles frowned, but his hands reached out, running over the candies. “I don’t want anything.”

“It’s really fine.”

“I’m not sure.” 

“Stiles it’s fine.”

Stiles picked up a pack of Reese’s peanut butter cups, then held it out to Peter as though for approval, who smiled warmly. Stiles returned the grin and they stood there like a couple of idiots, smiling in the candy section.

“Stiles!” 

A voice rang out loudly in the little store. Stiles flinched and whipped around at the boy hurrying towards them, even as Peter moved to place himself in front of his soulmate. The boy smelled human, and weak, but Peter wasn’t about to take any chances.

“It is you!” The boy, who looked about the same age as Stiles really but with an innocent baby face, stopped, his face the very definition of awe. 

“Scott.” Stiles breathed so quietly Peter could barely hear him, by he still made the connection instantly. Scott McCall. The best friend. 

“Oh my god, man! It’s so good to see you.” Scott was literally vibrating with the desire to get closer, but a dark look from Peter seemed to be successful in stopping him, not to mention he was still deliberately standing in the way. “I wanted to come see you in the hospital but Mom said you weren’t taking any visitors. I was going to come over as soon as you got home, man, I really was, but then you didn’t come home. Your dad said you had found your soulmate? Is this him?”

Stiles stood unnaturally still. His eyes were wide as his heart raced. “Hey Scott.”

“Hey man.”

Cora and Nora had apparently heard the commotion, because they came up silently behind the trio, not saying or doing anything, but lending their support with their presence. Peter did the same, moving slightly to the side so that he was no longer in the direct line between the two. 

“How. How have you been?”

“Pretty good. I’m going to school to be a vet, still getting my BS right now, but things are looking good. Dr. Deaton said I could practice with him once I get done, which is great because I can stay near to mom and, oh hey honey!”

Scott called out after a tall willowy woman who walked in, presumable after having finished filling up the Prius outside. She walked over, a wide smile on her face despite clearly having no idea what was going on. 

“This is Kira.” Scott was beaming while he looked at her. “My fiancé.”

“Hello.” Kira said sweetly, still looking politely lost. 

“This is Stiles. My friend from high school. You know about Stiles.”

Kira’s eyes widened as her mind put the name with the story of the missing kid. Peter tensed, preparing to stop the conversation before Stiles began to panic, but was stopped his soulmate’s hollow voice. 

“Congratulations.” Stiles face was still blank, though his scent was still relatively calm, and upon noticing it, Scott’s own smile fell. 

“I mean, we aren’t soulmates or anything, but she moved here senior year of high school and we’ve been together ever since.”

“No. That’s great. Really.” Stiles shook his head, as if to clear it, then managed to look a little clearer headed. “This is Peter.”

“Hey man, nice to meet you.” Scott held his hand out and he and Peter shook. 

“Hello.”

“He’s my soulmate.” Peter preened at hearing those words come out of Stiles mouth. He was so proud of how well Stiles was doing. He only wished he could grab Stiles’ hand to give him some comfort during this painful conversation the same way Kira was currently doing for Scott. 

Scott looked confused, very much like a lost puppy dog. “I thought your dad said your soulmate was Chris Argent.”

“He is. I mean, they both are.”

“Dude you’re in a trio! That’s amazing. You have to tell me all about it. Are you doing anything now? We were about to head into the city for dinner, but you should come. Both of you. Hell call Chris too. We have so much to catch up on! I missed you man.”

Stiles heart jumped in worry at the mention of a dinner invitation and his scent went sour. His hands started to shake slightly. Peter moved just a bit closer. 

“I missed you too man, but I don’t think I can.”

Scott’s looked heartbroken, then indignant. “Why not? Is it because of him? Is he the reason you never came home? Your dad comes over to our house a lot. He says you don’t love him anymore, that you want nothing to do with him. Are you, I mean, is everything ok? I can help you Stiles, just talk to me.”

“I. No, it’s just that.” Stiles looked at Peter hopelessly, but Peter’s mind was struggling to catch up with the accusations being leveled at he and Chris. His instinct was to go on the offensive, but he knew it wouldn’t help anything right now, so he stayed silent, biting his tongue.

Cora stepped in and slung an arm over Stiles shoulders, giving him a kind little shake, a reminder that he wasn’t in this alone. 

“He has plans tonight. You’re not the only person that Stiles needs to spend time with.” She said bluntly. “Some other time.”

“Oh. Hey Cora. Sure. Yeah. Some other time.” Scott turned to go, looking unhappy but no longer angry. 

Stiles lurched forward, wrapping Scott in a classic bro style hug before quickly backing off. “I’ll text you man, I swear.”

Scott and Kira left, Scott watching the Hales through the window was they pulled away. Stiles watched them leave as well, his eyes distant as his body trembled. Peter wanted so badly to wrap his safe in his arms, to comfort him as he watched the man who was once his brother drive away to a life that Stiles wasn’t a part of. 

“Come on Stiles. Let’s pick out ice cream.” Cora steered him away as Peter stood by uselessly. 

\-------  
Stiles was silent as Peter drove home while the girls chattered about mindless things, trying over and over to engage him, until he finally broke out of the fog he was in. By the time they were pulling in he was back to arguing if the Avengers could be considered drama, not action. 

Chris was heating up some leftover in the kitchen when they came in. Stiles went in for a hug first thing and Peter tried not to feel too jealous. 

“Hey baby.” Chris looked amused as he hugged back, Stiles not letting go for a long moment. 

“Guess who we ran into,” Cora said snagging a slice of homemade bread off the cutting board, thanks to Stiles’ newfound baking habit. “Scott McCall, Stiles old friend.”

“Oh? How did that go?”

“Good.” Stiles finally broke away. He seemed more confident than he had at the gas station, the drive home having been enough for his to recover from the surprise. “We’re going to hang out sometime.”

“That wonderful.” Chris didn’t even look up as he continued to lay out the food, satisfied that this was a non-issue. 

Peter moved in for a kiss from Chris, now that his other soulmates were done hugging. “It was. I’m going upstairs to work for a while.”

“Uncle Peter.” Nora whined, not wanting him to go. 

“I have a lot to do.”

He grabbed a plate, kissing Nora on the top head as he walked past and headed upstairs, eating as he went. It was delicious-Stiles must have made it for lunch and Chris had headed it up for dinner.

He sat down at his desk to eat, quietly stewing. Seeing Scott had made Peter strangely upset. He wasn’t even sure why. Maybe because Scott reminded Peter of how Stiles should be, all young and bubbly and full of life. It made him want to solve the mystery of Stiles disappearance even more. He dove back into his files with a renew vigor, eating bites between ready and taking notes. 

Cora popped upstairs before the girls left for the nights. She informed him that while Talia was traveling for a bit Laura would be acting as alpha, as practice as heir apparent.

“And why is she traveling?” Peter questioned hoping Talia’s daughter might now more than was left in his voicemail, still annoyed she would just up and leave without consulting him. 

“She said she wanted to double check something for the pack, but she wouldn’t say anything else. Grandma is meeting her thought, so she isn’t alone. 

Peter frowned. He was the left hand. He should be included in all pack affairs, no matter how busy he might be in his personal life. He could handle it. 

Cora kissed him goodbye and left, the other staying downstairs. Peter worked long into the night, until he eventually fell asleep, only waking when Chris came upstairs him to bring him to bed. 

The days continued much the same, until they turned into weeks. Work, research, sleep. Occasionally Cora would come help, other times he would tumble downstairs to find Derek over, or that Nora had tagged along as well, but he was far too tired to join in. It was mind-numbing and stressful all at the same time. 

\-------  
The full moon came and went with almost no fanfare. 

Except Peter didn’t go out and run in his fur. Talia was home but still wouldn’t tell why she had left or where she had gone. Peter took the high road and proceeded to ignore her, refusing to go to the pack house. Instead Laura and James came over. Laura brought some sort of gaming device, and they spent the night playing violent video games to settle the animal within them.

Stiles loved it. After he got the hang of it, which took all of five minutes, he crushed everyone else. He smiled, as his character made yet another kill. 

“Scott and I used to play these types of games all the time. The graphics are way better now though.”

Laura’s character died on screen. “You’ll have to come over and play at our house. Mom let us put a big screen in the basement and it’s amazing.”

Stiles agreed, talking animatedly about gaming terms Peter had never heard of, things that only Laura seemed to understand. 

They played late into the night, until James drifted off on the couch, and Laura went upstairs to bed in the spare room. 

Peter, Chris and Stiles went to bed as well. Stiles smelled content and happy. It pleased Peter’s wolf, calming him even more than a run could have. 

“Stiles?” Chris spoke out in the darkness, and Peter jerked awake. He hadn’t realized he had been asleep. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Stiles voice was sleepy. 

“You said you used to play video games with Scott.”

“Yeah. It was kinda our thing. We weren’t athletic, or musical, or even cool. But anyone can play video games, and Scott’s dad bought him all kinds of consoles after he left. He was trying to buy Scott’s love, it totally didn’t work, but it got us some good games.”

“When was the last time you remember playing with him?”

The was a beat where Peter thought Stiles wouldn't answer. “The weekend before. We had an old school Mario Kart tournament. Junk food and of tons pop, it was great.”

Chris made a thoughtful noise. 

“So you do recall parts of your life before? I mean, I know you do, you remember your father. But how much?” Chris seemed to be musing out loud. Peter tensed, already knowing what his husband was going for. “Do you remember who took you?”

Stiles heart began to pick up. Peter squeezed Chris hand to warn him.

“You don’t have to tell me who it was. I just want to know if you remember.”

The silence was long. 

“I remember.”

Chris slipped out of bed and slid on to Stiles’ mattress on the floor. Peter heard the rustling of Chris wrapping Stiles up in a hug. 

Peter couldn’t help himself. He got out of bed as well. He moved carefully, listening and sniffing for any sign he should stop, then slipped on the other side of Stiles, the young man’s body hot against his own. 

“I think I remember everything. Except Cora. When I try to think of her, it’s just blank. I don’t remember her from school at all, and she said we had a lot of classed together, that we were even lab partners.” Stiles whispered, sounding almost ashamed. 

“And Peter too actually. Dad said you worked with the department a few times, before you moved to the city. But I can’t remember you ever being at the station and I was there a lot.”

Peter swallowed. He remembered the Sheriff’s bright-eyed kid, if only in passing. “I remember you. You stole a cookie for me once, God you must have been like 8 or 9, off your dad’s desk and brought it to me when I was there all night once, helping organize files for a murder case. Said you were confiscating it. It made me laugh, to hear you use such a big word.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry sweetheart. It’s not your fault.”

“I only remember you Chris. I knew who you were even before I decided to jump. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I did that to you. To both of you.”

Peter caught Chris’ eye even in the dark, his own heart racing. It had to be an alpha. Who else would want to take away Stiles’ memories of just the Hales? He just had to figure out which fucking one. If they snuck past Talia, they had to be powerful. 

Stiles heart was pounding in the dark. Peter rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back, before opening his mouth. Chris shook his head slightly, telling Peter to let it go for now, so Peter kept his words to himself. 

They fell asleep together, Chris holding Stiles against his chest, while Peter spooned him from behind. They were all wrapped up in a tangle of legs and arms in the small twin sized bed that was still sitting on the floor, slightly uncomfortable but contented all the same. 

Peter listened as his two soulmates heartbeats evened out in sleep, his own mind keeping him up until the sun was nearly over the horizon. But his last thought as he drifted off wasn’t about revenge or research. It was that Stiles had finally let Peter hug him.

\------  
“Good evening Sheriff.”

It was late, very late and the department was almost empty, save a few tired officers drinking coffee in the back, all of whom had ignored him as he entered. 

Peter shut the office door as John stood, hands on his desk. 

“What’s wrong with Stiles?” The Sheriff demanded. 

Peter let a sly smile come on his face as he smelled worry rolling of the lawman in waves. John really did love his son. “Nothing. He’s perfectly fine. Having a sleepover with Cora and Nora, actually.”

“My nieces” Peter added, when the Sheriff still looked confused. The girls had invited themselves over yet again and this time were introducing Stiles to the wonderful world on Game of Thrones. Peter suspected that by the end of the evening Derek and James would have wandered over as well. 

John sat back down, running a hand over his face. “Then what can I help you with Mr. Hale?”

Peter sat as well. “I want to know who took Stiles.”

John’s face twitched as he went from worried to enraged. “Why the fuck do you think I know that? Don’t you think if I knew, I would have done something? I would have gotten him back.”

Peter leaned forward. “Here is what I fucking know. I know your kid went missing when your approval rating was at an all-time low. I know his new best friend Isaac was either dealing or using. I know that the FBI Agent McCall came in and basically made you stop looking.”

“So you think I had something to do with it.”

“No.” He loved Stiles too much for that. “No. But I do think you know I lot more than you put in those reports.”

The anger faded from the Sheriff face. “Nothing I could ever prove.”

He pulled a worn file out from his top desk drawer “I know you have all my other files to try to hunt those fuckers down. This one is private, full of ideas I couldn’t confirm.”

“First off, ignore McCall. He’s an ass and lazy as fuck, but there’s no conspiracy there. He wanted the case closed so he could try to convince Scott to leave Beacon Hills now that his best friend was gone. And yes, it turned out Isaac was into drugs, but I know Stiles wasn’t. I know it.”

Peter grabbed the file and began flipping through it. “Keep going.”

The Sheriff took a sip of coffee. “But I do think it had something to do with drugs. The gas station where the clerk may have seen Stiles is known for being a hot spot for dealers. Issac was dealing and Stiles was friends with him, and it was new, which is never a good sign. Not to mention, that year was the worst year for drug related violence and even deaths in years. It was a mess; I was hardly ever home, just trying to get a handle on it. We through the cartel might have moved in, but we couldn’t find evidence. All we found were heroin overdoses. Healthy people too as well as junkies. Kids trying it for the first time.”

“The drugs were contaminated.”

“I suspected so, but we didn’t get a good sample until after Isaac got caught with his batch. It was cut with something organic, but the laps never figured out what.”

“Then what?”

“Then nothing. Stiles was gone and we were all looking for months, long after the FBI closed the office report. Finally I had to give up, or leave my job. It was hard on me. By the time I drug myself out of the bottle long enough to work again, the drugs were simply gone."

“The gang left. And no one ever gave you a cryptic warning they had your son, no ransom. No one told you he was being punished for you.”

“Apparently. And no.”

Peter shook his head, annoyed. John’s heart stayed steady as he talked, crushing Peter’s hope that the kidnapper was actually out to hurt John. “And that didn’t seem suspicious to you.”

John slapped his hand down. “Fuck yes it did you little shit. But what was I supported to do? I had no leads; I had never had any real leads on the drugs in the first place. No one ever came forward with any new information and I pressured the shit out of Isaac and all the other deals I could find. All I could do was this.” John jerked the file out of Peter’s hands, holding it almost reverently. 

Peter took a moment and let John calm down, absorbing what he had been told. He knew most of it, or at least suspected, but the fact that the drugs disappeared with Stiles was brand new, an important detail.

Werewolves didn’t generally have anything to do with drugs. They metabolized them too quickly to get high and it simply wasn’t worth the effort. But there was money to be made in it. It was possible for a pack or two to get swept up in it. Especially if they had a week alpha. 

And it had to have been alpha that took him. The way Stiles’ memories of the Hales had simply disappeared made him certain. At this point, he refused to entertain any other ideas. '

He had been looking at werewolves that might have motive for days, unsurprisingly getting nowhere. But, for all that werewolves weren’t that uncommon in the grand scheme of the supernatural, alpha were. He personally knew all of them on the west coast. He had called the few he trusted, and a few he thought he could take if they betrayed him, searching for a name, anyone who might have heard about a pack moving in on Hale territory four or five years ago. 

No one had. 

So, it had to be someone new to the game, very new or very clever. Someone who had ties to drugs, to violence. 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a cut off sob. John wiped the tears away as soon as they fell, but his voice was still thick. 

“I know, somehow this is my fault. They took him because of me. Stiles has every right to hate me.”

Peter felt a stab of pity, because Peter was finally convinced that wasn’t true. At least not entirely. Most alphas wouldn't take Stiles without telling the Sheriff why. They were simply too vindictive not too.

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“He told me he did. Pretty damn clearly.”

Peter couldn’t imagine losing someone the way John lost Stiles, only to get them back, and somehow still end up alone. 

“Have you ever heard the phrase, if you love it, let it go? He loves you so much that he is willing to give you up to save you.”

John still looked heartbroken.

“Why does the think he has to save me? I’m his father. I protect him. I should have protected him.”

Peter stood, out of sympathy. John had it rough, but he wasn’t doing anything to fix it. He wasn’t bringing by Stiles favorite things, or even calling him on the off chance that Stiles might pick up. He wasn’t making sure his son still knew he loved him. “I suppose that is the question isn’t it. I let you know if I figure anything out.”

After the bodies were buried, that is. 

The Sheriff stood and showed him out. “Thank you Hale. And thank Argent for me too. Those texts he sends about Stiles. Sometimes they are the only things that keep me sane.”

\--------  
Peter called into work the next day, locking himself in his room to that he could focus with no distractions. He made call after call and called in favor after favor, determined to track this fucking alpha down. 

He had filled Chris in last night. Chris didn’t seem all that worried, almost blasé about hearing their soulmate had somehow been wrapped up in drugs.

“It’s in the past. He clearly isn’t on drugs now, so why worry about it.”

“I’m worried because drug dealers tend to be rather unpleasant people, especially if they are wolves, and I would rather them not come after him!”

They had fought, as much as they could fight with Stiles sleeping on the floor next to them and had woken tired and grouchy. 

Peter came up short on answers, so he called in again the day after, then the day after that. Then it was the weekend again, and he didn’t even have to worry about work. He didn’t stop for anything. Food showed up outside his door at every meal, and he wandered downstairs to sleep on occasion, but that was it. 

The problem was, werewolves weren’t nomadic. Most alphas took the territory of the last alpha that had replaced, either through murder or bloodlines. 

Even if they wanted to make a new home, it was hard. An alpha’s pack, once it settled in, was hard to uproot. There was a reason that four of the five Hale kids still lived at home. It was comforting and safe. 

The only reason for an alpha to have been in Beacon Hills would be to challenge Talia. But no one ever did. So they had to be there for the drugs, which wolves couldn’t use. Which meant they were really there for the money. 

But most wolves came from old money. They didn’t need to dabble in illegal activities. Besides, it was dangerous. Not because of the lifestyle, but because being caught could bring their pack unwanted attention, which led to hunters. 

Peter went round and round in circles.

There were no new packs in the area. But there had to be an alpha. But there was simply no such thing as a packless alpha- an alpha without a pack had an undeniable instinct to bite, to build a pack. There wasn’t any wolves on the west coast was dealing drugs, but someone had to be. 

“Fuck.” Peter swore, throwing his empty coffee mug at the door, narrowly missing his husband as he walked in. 

“Jesus Peter.” 

“Sorry.” Peter sunk into his chair and let his head thunk down. 

Chris walked over and wrapped both his arms around Peter’s shoulders. “What are you even doing in here?”

“Finding the kidnappers.”

Chris huffed. “No. You’re not. You’re driving yourself crazy trying to answer questions that you simply don’t have enough information to answer. Not until Stiles is ready to tell you.”

"Then we ask him again."

"No."

Peter raised his head up. “I have to find them. I need Stiles to be safe.”

“He is safe. He’s never along, never in any danger. Besides there hasn’t been any other sighting of anyone suspicious. Everyone’s been looking. They haven’t smelled or seen any other wolves, much less alphas were a drug grudge. Beacon Hills is safe. Stiles is safe.

Chris moved in closer, eyes wide and honest. “He’s with us. And no one is getting through both of us, much less the whole pack.”

“The pack? Why would the pack care?”

“Fuck. Peter.” Chris shook his head. “I want you to stop, to stop looking. Put it aside for now, until you know more. You’re not helping anyone. You’re obsessed and it’s driving you crazy, locked up here all alone.”

“I have to find them. I have to…” Chris stopped him by tilting his head up and pressing his lips against Peter’s.

It had been a long time since they had kissed like this, all passion and heat. Peter moaned as Chris tongue found its way into his mouth, going hard all at once. 

Chris stopped, then dropped to his knees. He unbuttoned Peter’s jeans and freed his cock all in one movement. Peter gasped slightly as his husband took him in his mouth and swallowed him down. 

It was hot and warm and wonderful. Each suck and flick of the tongue pulled him closer to the edge. It had been too long, and Peter knew he wasn’t going to last. He pulled Chris up and onto his lap, pushing down Chris’ underwear and pulling out his dick as well. 

Peter wrapped a hand around both of them, the spit from the blowjob the only lubricant. He jerked quickly, too frantic to go slow and savor it. 

The noises Chris was making were fucking amazing, each one hitting him down to his core. He came with a growl, Chris following closely behind.

They sat on the chair for a long moment, foreheads pressed together and panting. 

“When Stiles is ready, he’ll tell us. Until them, we’ll keep him safe. We wait. I’m a hunter Peter. Let me make a trap and when the time comes, you’ll spring it. We’ll get them.”

Peter shook his head, ready to restart the argument they had just stopped. “We can’t both be here all the time. We both have jobs and obligations to the pack. They might get around us.”

Chris stood, and tucked himself back in. “Let me show you something.”

\------  
They detoured to the upstairs bathroom to clean up, then walked downstairs. To Peter’s surprise, he could hear several heartbeats, not to mention laughter, echoing from outside.

Chris took him to the glass patio door.

All the kids were outside. All of them, Laura, Derek, Cora, Nora, and Stiles. They were gathered around the lounge chairs and the ground around them, eating pizza and laughing. They were wearing swimsuits and soaking wet, like they had just done swimming. 

Stiles was laughing, but that wasn’t all. He was sitting leg to leg with Derek, while Cora sat on the deck and leaned against them both. Nora reached over for more pizza, brushing his side, and he didn’t even flinch. 

“We aren’t the only one’s keeping him safe. If someone wants him, they will have to go through all of them.”

“I don’t understand. When did this happen?”

Chris expression was dry. “You missed a lot locked up in your office. After Cora came by the first time, they others followed. One at a time at first, but then in groups. And Stiles has done well with them, he likes them a lot. He bakes with Laura, reads with Derek, watching movies with Nora and Cora. He talked to James, and acts like he is ready to meet Talia. He was even taking about going over to the pack house for Cora’s birthday next month.”

Peter pressed his head against the glass. “I’ve missed so much. I was trying to save him, to protect him. I wanted him to trust in me, and all I did was disappear. I let him down.”

Chris shook his head. “Every other word Stiles says is to brag about something you cooked for him, or how you read such amazing books, how smart you are, how much you care about him. The kids all think it’s cute and they tell story after story about what a good uncle you are, how you take care of them too. He’s been making your favorite foods for days now and he’s the one who had been bringing them up to you. He adores you.”

“I love him.” Peter’s voice broke. “I never wanted too but I fucking love him.”

Chris smiled. “I know. I love him too. Both of you, so much.”

“Maybe we can do this. Maybe we can be a family.”

“Come on.” Chris opened the door. “Come spend time with your family.”


	15. Chapter 15

Peter walked outside in a daze. Derek grabbed him and pulled him onto a chair between himself and Stiles. 

The conversation floated around him, but Peter tuned it out. 

The kids, the pack, had accepted Stiles. They had been coming over when they didn't have to, just because they wanted spend time with Stiles. They had been making an effort to include him in their day to day activities. And it was just what Stiles needed. People who didn’t know who he used to be, people who accepted him as he was, who didn’t think he was broken and damaged. 

And Peter hadn’t even noticed, too busy trying to prove something. And for what? Stiles was safe with Peter and Chris to watch over him. He was even safer now that the others had accepted him. If his kidnappers made their move, the pack would take them down. 

And they would make their move. Pack’s didn’t let beta’s go easily, not even human ones. 

Stiles poked Peter’s leg, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“Hey. Glad you wandered down. Are you getting close to finding answers on your case or did you just need a break?"

Peter took the piece of pizza the younger man offered on a paper plate. “Yes. In fact, I think it’s over.”

Cora looked up sharply, scent sharpening with surprise, but Peter shook his head discreetly. He would tell her the truth later. 

“Great! Cause we were thinking, maybe we could have a pool party tonight? Swim under the moon?” Stiles looked hopeful, open and bright, like a young man having fun in the sun should. 

Laura laughed, then shoved him shoulder slightly. “Of course we can. Uncle Peter loves feeding us.”

“You’ll grill out right Uncle Peter?” Nora said, shooting him puppy dog eyes, managing to look much younger than sixteen. 

Peter stroked his chin with a frown, pretending to think about it. Nora giggled and Cora rolled her eyes, but Stiles frowned, hands twisting the empty paper plate sitting on his lap. Anxiety began to roll of him. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It was stupid to assume, I shouldn’t have, it was wrong.”

Peter felt a sudden tear in his chest. The same tear he would feel if a pack mate was in distress or if they were truly upset. He grabbed at his chest as if he could rip it open and pull the feeling out, trying not to gasp in surprise. He felt his face go blank and the distress ramped up even more. 

Stiles continued babbling apologies while the others tried to calm him down, no double all realizing that he was heading towards a panic attack. 

“No, no, it’s fine. Really it’s fine.” Peter said cutting through the din, heart hammering away as he began to take inventory of the pack bonds he felt. “Whatever you all want.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed and Derek looked at him hard, both observant enough to know something was wrong. 

“Excuse me.” Peter stood abruptly, nearly knocking Derek over in his haste. “I’ll just go get some steaks ready.”

Peter stumbled into the kitchen, sinking to the floor. 

Pack bounds were tricky. They depended on the size of the pack, as well as the familiarity. The Hale pack was large, but intimate, and so, had strong pack bounds. Even the humans in the pack could feel them, though as a wolf, he could feel them more clearly than Chris could, though to add even more complications, he and Chris could feel each other even more closely because they were soulmates. 

Peter forced himself to take a few deep breathes. He didn’t want his own panic to tickle down, though he was skilled at blocking himself from the pack bonds, something he had learned as the left hand, so that his more unpleasant feeling didn’t scar the children, especially when they were younger. 

He reached out to tug at the bonds. He could feel Talia, the indestructible tower against which he had built his life. He could feel Chris, sharp and iron strong. He could feel James, water flowing over his hands and his mother, soft and safe. He could feel the other kids, Laura, Derek, Eric, Cora, Nora and even Erica and Boyd the two new bitten betas, all relatively calm, though Laura’s was bordering on concerned, presumably at him. 

But he could feel someone else, a weak and brittle strand that connected closer to his heart than any of the others. 

Stiles. 

Stiles had a pack bond. Holy fuck. 

A warm body sunk down beside him. Peter laid his head against his husband’s shoulder with a wry grin. Of course the hunter had snuck up on him.

They sat for a long moment, listening to the kids laughing and each other’s heartbeats. 

“How long?” Peter finally asked. “How long has he had a pack bond?”

“Talia says she felt him ever since he and I soul bonded, though it’s weak and incomplete. But no one else started noticing until about a week or so ago. I guess the beta’s felt so protective that they just kinda drew him into the pack, even without having met the alpha.”

That didn’t happen. No one could be part of the pack without the alpha’s say so. They had to accept the bond in person with either a bite for a wolf, or a general physical contact for a human. It didn’t just happen. 

“It was probably Cora’s fault. She hasn’t ever met a stray she didn’t adopt.”

Chris snorted a laugh and Peter joined in. Cora was the reason the pack house was full of furry friends, though Talia made her adopt as many as possible out to other homes.

“They love him.” Chris said, suddenly serious, as their hysterical giggles slowed down. “I’m so fucking thankful they all love him as much as we do.”

“Yeah.”

Apparently Peter didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he should have. Chris raised an eyebrow.

“It’s just.” Fuck. Peter hated heart to hearts like this, and damn, they had been having a lot of them lately. “I wanted it to be me. I wanted to be the one to bring him into the pack.”

He pictured it, late at night when he drifted off to sleep. Stiles, confident and well, all the fears chased from his eyes, walking into the pack house hand and hand with Peter and Chris. Peter introducing him formally to his alpha, who would, of course, welcome him with open arms. 

“Why does he love them so easily? They’ve known him for what, a few weeks? And they have already brought him into the pack. And subconsciously he must love them too, must trust them, or it wouldn’t have been possible at all.”

Chris pressed his lips to Peter’s temple. “It easier for Stiles to love them. If they betray him, if they let him down, all he loses is a few friends. He can afford to lose them. But if he loves you and loses you, he loses a soul mate. I don’t know if there is any coming back from that. So, yes loving you took longer. Keep in mind, it took a long time for him to love me as well. But, it’s only because, in the end, he’ll love us more.”

Chris let Peter stew for a few more minutes, before pulling him up. “You’ll see. He’ll tell you soon.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but hoped it was true. 

“Come on. We have hungry werewolves to feed. Get to work on those steaks and I’ll whip up some sides.”

\--------  
Chris made potato salad and mac and cheese while Peter defrosted and marinated steaks and hamburgers. He threw in a few hot dogs too, just in case. 

Laura snuck inside while they were working, rubbing her face against Peter’s shoulder comfortingly, before mixing up some chocolate chip cookies that they could have for dessert.

The sun was starting to set and Peter was pilling up the platter with meat to go out on the deck and begin grilling, when Cora stormed inside, a damp dress pulled on over her swimsuit. 

“We’re out of soda. And we need chips. Drive me to the store.” She grabbed Peter’s hand and pulled him out the door.

“You know, Chris made potato salad and we could all drink water.” Peter suggested mildly, as he started the car.

“You know that is not what this trip is about. Yes, Derek is whining about being out of root beer, but I don’t care. I needed to know why you’re giving up the search for Stiles’ kidnappers. I waited and waited for you to come out and talk to me. Did you find them?” 

“No.” 

“What?” Cora snarled, eyes flashing in the growing darkness. “Then why are you stopping?”

“Because Stiles’ is suddenly pack!” Peter practically roared and Cora instinctively bared her neck in submission of an older pack member. It was enough to calm Peter’s wolf and he continued much more calmly. 

“Because I missed Stiles letting you all into his life. I missed him recovering enough that any or you kids can touch him without so much as a flinch. Because I’m never going to figure out who it is without more information. Because Chris asked me to.”

The rest of the drive was silent. They arrived at the nearest store and Cora unbuckled her seat belt to get out, but Peter laid a hand on hers. Cora stopped, waiting patently. 

“Because no one in this pack is going to let anything happen to my soulmate, regardless of what the threat is. Because you love him too.”

Cora nodded; sincerity written on every inch of her face. Peter squeezed her hand, needing her to understand. 

“They are still going to come for him. We’ll be ready. And we are still going to fucking rip them apart.”

\------  
By the time they got back loaded down with enough snacks to feed an army, Derek had already started grilling, the smell of cooking meat filling the summer air. Someone had lit the bug repellent torches all around the pool and turned on a radio as well. It really was a party. 

Laura and Nora were in the pool, not swimming but sitting on floats and talking. Chris and Stiles were at the edge of the pool. Chris had his feet dangling in the water, Stiles’ head pillowed in his lap laying on the edge of the pool. He was talking to the girls as well, hands petting Stiles’ head absentmindedly. Stiles looked almost asleep, a faint smile on his face. 

Cora began to set out the food as the other girls scrambled out of the pool. Stiles shook himself awake at the commotion, standing and going to help Cora. Peter took that opportunity to lean down and kiss his husband, who was staying out of the way until the adolescent werewolves got fed. 

“How did I get so lucky as to have you?” he whispered, hoping Chris would hear the gratitude in his voice and know what it was for. 

Chris smiled understandingly. “Just lucky I guess.”

The kids descended on the food like absolute wolves, hungry from a day of swimming in the sun. It wasn’t long before the mountain of food was gone. Even Stiles ate almost an entire steak on his own. 

After they had finished, the betas all leaped back in the pool, rejuvenated, except for Stiles, who simply sat at the edge. Chris excused himself to do the dishes, brushing off Stiles’ offer to help. Peter sat back in a pool chair, dozing lightly, full from dinner and feeling comforted by the sounds of his pack around him.

A shadow moving towards the woods had Peter suddenly sitting up in his chair, fully awake. Peter was up and moving in a heartbeat, as he followed Stiles away from the din and towards the woods. 

His thoughts raced as to why his soulmate would be disappearing into the dark. He was worried the kidnappers were back, that Stiles was finally running away, that he was lost in an episode and didn’t know what he was doing. To Peter’s relief, Stiles didn’t go into the forest, but stopped a few yards from the edge where a few chairs and an unlit fire pit was. He stood and looked at the empty pit, apparently lost in thought as Peter ran up to him.

He caught Stiles around the shoulders, the claws on his fingers snagging the swim shirt he still wore. Peter forced his claws back in, grateful that they were the only part of him that had shifted. 

“Are you alright?” Peter demanded as he whipped the kid around. “What’s going on? Is someone here?”

Stiles looked startled, then ashamed, looking down and kicking the dirt with his bare feet.

“Stiles.” Peter gave him an impatient, gentle shake. “What are you doing out here?”

Stiles eyes were wide and frightened. “I’m sorry! I just got a little overwhelmed and I needed a break. I didn’t want to bother Chris so I came out here. I’m sorry.”

Peter pulled the kid in close against himself, relief making his knees weak. “So you didn’t see anyone? You didn’t follow anyone out here?”

“What? No, of course not.”

Peter didn’t let go as he scented the air, smelling only the sweet smell of cherry that was purely Stiles and no one else. 

“Everything okay?” Laura called out, only loud enough for Peter to hear.

“Yes.” Peter answered back, knowing she would hear the half-whispered word. 

Stiles pulled away and gave Peter a weird look. “I don’t run into danger Peter. I run away.”

“Well that’s fucking good.” Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes. 

To Peter’s surprise, Stiles threw his head back and laughed. “You’ve got jokes.”

“Do you want to go back?

“Not yet.”

Peter nodded, then them pulled them onto the wicker love seat by the fire pit, sitting shoulder to shoulder, and watching the pack, who had by now figured out there was no danger, and had gone back to playing, roughhousing a little harder now that Stiles wasn’t near the pool. Peter considered getting up and starting a fire but didn’t want to leave Stiles even for a moment. 

“They really are a handful.” Peter said fondly, as Derek dunked Laura, who came up screaming and splashing. 

“No shit. They decided to adopt me, and that was that.” 

“Are you upset? I can tell them to back off.”

Stiles shrugged. “Not really. It’s nice. To be wanted.” 

Peter agreed. It was nice. They sat for a long moment, enjoying the cool night air.

“I know what you’ve been doing locked up in your office.” 

Peter’s blood froze in his veins and he waited for the impending panic, but Stiles’ heart was as steady as it ever way as he continued.

“I know you’re trying to figure out who took me. I don’t mind. But I miss you. You’re always up there, never downstairs with us.” 

“Chris said something similar.”

“He’s pretty smart like that.”

Peter couldn’t help the dreamy smile that came across his face when he thought about the way his husband took care of the people he loved. “Yes.”

“I wish I could just tell you. I want to. But every time I try, it’s like the words get stuck in by throat. It burns and it hurts, then I just can’t do it.”

Peter wanted to badly to pull Stiles in close, to show him the love he felt. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter who it is. I’ll keep you safe- we’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

Stiles was beautiful in the flickering firelight of the distant torches, pale skin luminescent and eyes shinning.

“I know.” Stiles’ voice was husky. “Peter, I want to tell you something.”

“Anything sweetheart.”

“I’m falling for you.” It came out in a rush. “The way you let me sleep in the room so I could always see Chris, the way you worry about me, even more than Chris does, the way you care so much about my safely that you spend weeks researching my disappearance. It makes me feel so fucking important, it would have been impossible not to.”

Peter’s heart jumped and his wolf howled with joy at his soulmate’s proclamation. He looked up at Peter thought his eyelashes, so open and vulnerable. “Oh Stiles. Sweetheart. I’ve fallen for you too.”

Stiles held his hand out, palm up.

Peter swallowed hard, knowing full well what would happen if he took his soulmates hand, if they touched skin on skin. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’ve talked about it with Chris. He knows how I feel about you, just like you know how I feel about him.

“You love us both. And we love you.” Peter’s voice broke, and he blinked hard to keep the tears from running down his face. He couldn’t have ever imagined feeling like this, so full of love he could hardly stand it.

Stiles flushed, though he didn’t say it back. Instead, he nudged Peter’s leg with his hand. 

“It’s my choice. I want to. I want this.”

Stiles heart stayed steady. 

“Please.”

“I love you.” Peter reached out. He took his soulmates hand, interlocking their fingers. He felt his soul mark burn bright, brighter than it had when he bonded with Chris, then everything went dark.


	16. Chapter 16

Chris gasped and dropped the dish he was holding. It shattered on the kitchen floor right by the sink, but he ignored it in favor of holding his burning soul mark.

It looked the same as it had since he had bonded with Stiles, still bright and colorful. Beautiful in every way.

But it fucking hurt. It hurt so much worse than it had when he and Peter bonded, or he and Stiles. It felt like his skin was melting off the bone, the muscle peeling away until there was nothing but ash. 

After a heartbeat or two, the pain faded enough that Chris could ungrit his teeth and take a full breath. But Chris was still overwhelmed by sheer emotion and pain coming from the other end of his soul bond, from both Peter and Stiles so much clearer than ever before. 

Then it went dreadfully dark.

Chris jumped the pile of broken glass and sprinted outside. He had heard stories about what happened when a soulmate died, the pain, the awful emptiness that consumed the remaining partner until they wasted away to nothing. 

And right now, Chris felt nothing from either of them. His own heart was beating too hard to be able to feel if the bond was even still there. His mind raced, picturing all the awful things that could have happened. 

The pack must have heard something or maybe felt something, because they were all in various states of getting out of the pool as he ran past, jumping off the deck as effortlessly as any werewolf. Chris didn’t stop to ask any questions, didn’t stop to arm himself, but continued to race in the direction the wolves fixed stares. 

He skidded to a stop in from of their outdoor firepit, where Peter and Stiles lay slumped together. He didn’t see any blood, but both their eyes were closed and their faces slack. Peter’s arms were wrapped around Stiles like he was protecting him from whatever had hurt them.

“No.” Chris felt the blood drain from his face and sunk to his knees. 

“It’s okay.” Peter looked up, dull eyes opening slowly. Chris felt a rush of relief that Peter was alive, that he alright, before refocusing on Stiles still form in the wolf’s arms.

“It’s okay.” Peter repeated mechanically, face fixed on the boy’s with a look of pure adoration on his face. “Chris, it’s okay. He’s okay.”

“How?” Chris couldn’t get out any words, couldn’t get his brain to connect the scene before him with the words Peter was staying.

In response, Peter held out his now bright and fresh soul mark. Stiles stirred, eyes blinking awake. Chris couldn’t see his mark, covered by his long-sleeved swim shirt, but assumed it looked similar. 

Chris moaned, stumbling to his feet and towards his family. As he got closer, he could see the black veins of Peter’s arm as he pulled whatever pain Stiles was feeling. Stiles didn’t seem to notice, eyes blank and pupils blown as he laid submissively in Peter’s arms. 

Shock. Chris brain supplied. They were all in shock. 

The pack was there, having followed Chris’ frantic run, hovering at a respectful distance now that it was clear no one was in danger. They were whispering to each other but Chris ignored them in favor of wrapping his arms around his soulmates. 

“We bonded. Stiles and I. It was. It was like nothing I have ever felt.” Peter still had tears rolling down his face, but he didn’t sound detached even as he struggled for words.

“I felt it.” Chris murmured into his neck. “Then you both just went blank. I was so scared.”

Stiles shuttered but didn’t say anything, still apparently satisfied to be sandwiched between them, wrapping on hand around Chris’ wrist, the other in Peter’s hand. 

“I didn’t know it would feel like that.”

Chris nodded in agreement. Now that it was over, the pain and the panic a rapidly fading memory, it felt like a bone being popped back into place. It had hurt like hell, but now, he felt more right than he ever had before. 

“I think it was just too much, too powerful. We both passed out. I came to quicker, obviously. That must have been why you stopped feeling us.”

Chris nodded again.

“Can we please get in on this group hug thing?” Cora said, her voice choked up by tears, but she was smiling broadly, as were all the others, still hovering nearby.

“Get in here.” Stiles said, his voice muffled by Chris’ shirt. 

The wolves took that as invitation for them all to pile on, arms and warm bodies pressed all around them. 

It felt like home. It felt like pack.

\------  
Even though Stiles and Peter were bonded, the kid was still surprisingly reserved with his second soulmate. The changes Stiles made were slow in coming and small. He still didn’t go in for hugs from the wolf or hold his hand, much less allow Peter to kiss him the way he would allow Chris to on the forehead or cheek. 

Instead he wrapped their ankles together when they all watched TV. He brushed his fingers over Peter’s neck before landing an arm around his shoulders, scenting the wolf’s most sensitive point, and ignoring the shutter and look of want in the Peter’s eyes when he did so. 

Chris knew it was hard for his tactile wolf to contain his desire for touch, but Peter didn’t press, letting Stiles set the speed, as he always had.

But he had picked up the interesting habit of pressing a hand to the small of Stiles’ back nearly constantly. It was light, unobtrusive, but it seemed to satisfy the wolf for now. Stiles always pushed back into the touch, the only sign that the human might someday want more. 

Chris had a feeling that when they finally moved past this into something more, it wouldn’t be calm. The transition from friendship to romance wouldn’t be slow and smooth, like it had been for Chris and Stiles. It would be fast and passionate, like everything the wolf did.

\------  
Chris found them touching like that on a beautiful morning a few days after the bonding. Chris had just gotten off the phone with Deaton, after having called several times about their rather spectacular soul bonding. He had demanded the druid investigate it, worried that the severity was a problem. It turned out that it wasn’t usual for a trio’s bonding to be that intense, especially if a supernatural being was involved. It put Chris’ mind at ease, though Peter still seemed slightly suspicious of the druid.

He paused at the entryway of the kitchen, watching the domestic scene before him. Peter was drinking coffee while leaning against the counter, one hand wrapped around his cup, the other sitting on the small of Stiles’ back. 

Stiles was busy as well, taking several muffins off the cooling rack and putting them into a plastic container. He didn’t move far from Peter’s reach, and Peter never stopped reaching out. It was adorable. 

Chris breezed by the counter, reaching out to grab a muffin as he went. Stiles hit his knuckles with a wooden mixing spoon and Chris let go with a yelp. 

“You won’t like those. They’re heart healthy, so less salt, less fat, and even less sugar.”

“Less taste.” Peter supplied with a shudder. 

“Then why make them?”

Stiles just shot him a half smile, before pointing out a basket full of muffins sitting by the coffee maker. “Those are for you guys. Blueberry banana. They’re good.”

Chris took one, pouring himself a cup of coffee to go with it. He moved close to Peter, reading the headlines over his husband’s shoulder and enjoying the peacefulness around him.

“Hey guys.” The front door opened without a knock, a common practice in the pack, and Laura walked in. 

She came into the kitchen, already dressed in her uniform but looking ruffled. “Stiles I’m running late.”

“Here.” Stiles pressed the plastic container full of healthy muffins into her hands, then place a few of the yummy muffins on top of it, wrapped in a napkin to keep them warm. 

“Tell everyone I said hi.”

Laura smiled softly. “I’ll let him know.”

She ran out the door was quickly as she had come. 

“What was that all about?”

Stiles shrugged. “I’ve been baking some things for the Sheriff’s department. Healthier treats, cause I know my dad will end up eating them.”

He played it off like it was no big deal, turning to start washing up the dishes he had dirtied while baking. But Chris knew better. Stiles showed love with food. He had started relaxing around Chris when they started cooking together. He started trusting Peter when the wolf cooked for him. He was sending his dad a message that he still loved him. 

Whether or not his dad got that message was anyone’s guess.

\------  
It was a good day. Chris was done with work and Stiles was in a good mood, bouncing around the house like a sugared-up toddler. 

Probably because he was sugared-up. He, Laura, and Derek had spent all morning making cookies for a library bake sale, allowing Chris some time alone to answer his emails, although Chris no longer felt the need to call someone over to keep Stiles company if he was going to be busy. He wasn’t worried about Stiles running away or doing something stupid and desperate anymore. Still, it was nice that the pack was over so often. 

Stiles was completely comfortable with them now. Hell, he had even met Cora best friend Erica, who had been bitten a few years back and joined the pack, due to a medical condition. Her boyfriend Boyd joined as a human, because Erica slipped up and shifted in front of him. Stiles tolerated them as well as could be expected, preferring not to spend time with the non-Hales but not freaking out when they were around. The only pack members that he hadn’t met were Talia and Grandma Hale, both of whom were currently out of town yet again, on alpha business. 

“Want to go for a walk?” Chris asked, after watching Stiles fall off his chair for the third time while he tried to settle long enough to read. “We could go see the foxes.”

“Sure!” Stiles was out the door in an instant. 

“Stiles shoes!”

“Fuck.” He jogged back to grab them off the rack by the door. Chris tried not to frown too much. He had been doing more and more stuff like that lately, forgetting little things, or not remembering things he was told. It was concerning Chris. Concerning him enough he wanted to take Stiles in for a check-up, scared that it was a result of brain damage from the fall, or the time he went without oxygen that was showing up now that the rest of him was recovered. 

Peter seemed worried it might be magical and was going back and forth between wanting to take Stiles to see Deaton, and not trusting the emissary enough to do so. 

Stiles decreed he was fine, that it just his ADHD acting up. But he still refused to take his meds, so it was something they all learned to deal with. Personally, Chris thought it made his soulmate even more adorable, the way he was so thrilled about life that he could literally forget the little things, even if it worried him at the same time. 

They walked through the woods for a bit, wandering nowhere in particular, Chris periodically asking questions about the foliage to see what Stiles remembered, testing him without testing him, which seemed to be the best way the kid learned. 

They were near the creek when Stiles speed up a bit, eager to see the fox family in their den by the water. Chris thanked the universe for the hundredth time for letting that fox family have their babies where Stiles could watch them grow up, and that the parents didn’t seem to mind the humans hanging around their home. It had done wonders for him, seeing these little blind creatures become pups, full of life and energy, much the same way that Stiles himself was doing. 

They were nearly to the den when Stiles took off at a flat out run, worry on his face. Chris took off after him, scanning the area for threats as he went. Seeing none, he focused on his alarmed soulmate, who was currently kneeling in the leaves beside a grey mass. 

Stiles hands were trembling as he reached out. “It’s one of the kits.”

It had been mangled, its side torn up and its back leg looked broken. There was no sign of its family who had likely fled from whatever had attacked this one. 

“It was probably attacked by an animal. A dog or coyote or.”

A wolf. 

No, it didn’t make sense. Peter would never hurt the kits. He knew how much Stiles loved them. Even shifted, he wouldn’t make that mistake. 

And there were no other wolves on their land. Peter ran the territory lines every day before he went to work, and in the evening, still worried that Stiles kidnappers might come after him even on Argent-Hale land. If he didn’t make it home, he called one of the kids. No, it had to be a wild animal. An accident. 

Stiles sniffed, trying to hold back tears. Chris put a comforting hand on Stiles shoulder, not at all judging why he was having such a strong reaction to the carnage and worried about the memories that it might be dragging up. 

Stiles wrapped his large hands around the little body, then looked up sharply. “It’s still alive, I can feel it’s heart.”

He pulled the kit in close to his own chest headless of the blood ruining his shirt. “Chris, can you save it?” 

He doubted it. He was trained to hunt, not to save. He only knew basic human first aid, not animal. But he knew someone who might. Screw Peter’s distrust. Deaton was a good vet. 

“We’ll take him to Deaton’s.”

\------  
They hurried back to the house. The kit cried a bit but didn’t try to move out of Stiles’ arms as he jogged, following Chris’ steady footsteps. 

They got to the house just as Peter was getting home, stepping out of the car, still in his expensive suit only to have his eyes go wide. He started running to meet them as they came out of the woods. 

“What’s wrong?” Peter eyed Stiles’ bloody shirt anxiously. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Can we take your car? It’s faster.” Stiles didn’t answer the questions as he slid into the backseat of the Jaguar. 

“One of the fox kits is hurt. We just found it in the woods. We’re taking it to Deaton’s.” Chris explained. 

“Should we be worried?”

Chris understood what he was asking. “I didn’t see anything to suggest it. Looks like a genuine animal attack.”

Peter nodded then got in the driver’s seat, not even warning Stiles not to get blood on the leather interior. Chris got in as well, and Peter drove off with a skid of gravel.

The vet was still open when they arrived, but there was only one other car in the parking lot, signaling that it was almost closing time. Peter went in first looking every bit of the protective mate, head on a swivel as he hustled the others along. Chris followed behind Stiles who was only focused on the kit. Chris visually swept the perimeter to make up for Stiles’ lack of awareness, even though he knew Peter would sense anything long before he did.

Stiles didn’t look up from the bundle in his arms when they got to the empty counter but called out with more confidence that Chris had heard him ever use. “We need to see the vet. Now.”

Deaton walked up front in his annoyingly calm way, not at all troubled by Stiles’ tone. “Can I help you?” 

His eyes flickered up to meet Peter’s before giving Chris a subtle nod. 

“You have to help him.” Stiles held out the fox. “You have to save him. I know you can.”

“I’ll do my best. You’re welcome to wait.” Deaton took the animal, hands moving to cataloging its injuries even as he walked away to the back room.

Stiles sunk into a chair, head in his hands and letting himself have a small breakdown over the potential loss of his animal friend. Chris recognized the cadence of his breath and began to rub comforting circles on his back, murmuring that everything was going to be fine. 

It didn’t take long for Stiles to calm down. It had been startling to find it but the kit wasn’t really a pet. Stiles looked up with a sigh, taking Peter’s hand in his own, since Chris was still rubbing his back. Peter looked thrilled and held on tight, though he was texting with the other hand, no doubt working. Chris made himself comfortable to wait.

Deaton came out before too long, assuring the trio that the wounds weren’t as bad as they looked. The kit should make a full recovery and even be able to be released back into the wild. 

“Maybe we can go see it?” Peter asked, giving the vet a significant look. Chris wondered if perhaps his husband had been texting Deaton to have Stiles examined since they were here anyway. 

“Of course.” Deaton gestured at them to come back, letting Stiles open the mountain ash gate, which he naturally did with no trouble. 

The kit was sleeping in a cage on a long wall of kennels, all of them empty, while a young man cleaned up the mess of bloody gaze on the steel examination table. Stiles went straight for the kit, not noticing the strange crystals lining the widows, or the symbol written on the floor that Stiles had to walk across to get to the cage. 

Chris did, however and rolled his eyes. How on earth Deaton expected his assistant not to notice such things was beyond him. Thought the boy did seem a bit dull.

Peter sniffed the air, then frowned, fidgeting a bit in a way that was unusual for him. He told Chris he would wait in the car, to which Chris agreed. The wolf had never liked the way the vet’s office smelled. 

The vet’s assistant slowly walked closer to Stiles, who didn’t notice, too focused on the baby. “So you brought in the pet fox?” 

Stiles looked up from the kit, his brown drawn. “Hey Scott! I didn’t know you worked here.”

Chris relaxed, taking the hand away from the knife he had hidden in his pocket. He known the name Scott, knew they used to be best friends and that they were reconnecting. He wasn’t a threat. 

“Yeah, all through high school and now when I’m not at college. Deaton promised me a job, if I ever make it through vet school.”

The two continued to talk for a bit, about small things like the dog the McCall’s apparently used to own, but the longer they talked the calmer Stiles became. Chris was satisfied to sit back and let them chat, but before too long Deaton reminded Scott that he had work to do.

The boys hugged, then Stiles thanked Deaton for this help. The vet walked them out, stopping Chris after Stiles was out the door, eager to tell Peter how good the kit looked.

“He’s fine, magically speaking. No hexes, spells, curses or anything on him.” Deaton face was blank in a way that Chris had long ago figured meant he was hiding something, probably why he was talking to Chris instead of Peter who could hear the lies in his words. 

“Then why is he missing memory?”

“It could be a number of reasons. Trauma, brain damage, pure protective instinct in which his mind is protecting itself. But let Peter know the only way to rule out it not being an alpha’s claw is to for Talia to use her own to look.”

Chris gritted his teeth in anger. How dare Deaton suggest something so traumatic. Surely there had to be some sort of magic he could do that would have the same effect. 

“We won’t be doing that,” He replied sarcastically. “But thank you for all your help.”

He stormed out. 

\------  
Peter agreed with Chris not to let Talia plunge her nails into their soulmate’s neck, nearly as furious at the suggestions as he was about the uselessness of even having a druid in the pack if they couldn’t help their soulmate. He was so upset he had to go for a run, as he was struggling to control his eye flashes. 

Chris agreed that Deaton was a cryptic self-serving ass, but he was also one of the most knowledgeable druids Chris had ever meet. Plus, he was a vet, which allowed the human members of the pack to get first aid without having to explain to a hospital how they happened. Which was why Talia kept him around.

Chris began to plot how he could convince the vet to give up what he had found out about Stiles. Traditional threats historically didn’t work well; he would have to get creative.

Meanwhile, a few good things still came out of their trip to the vet.

Scott and Stiles started talking properly, texting often and even going out a few times. Peter had driven him to get ice cream with the other young man, then stuck around like a creeper, making sure Stiles was safe with the human. 

Peter didn’t like Scott. He hadn’t made a good impression when they meet at the gas station and Peter liked first impressions. Peter didn’t forgive him for setting off the panic attack, nor did he like the way Scott somehow blamed Chris and Peter for Stiles choosing not to move back in with his dad. He also didn’t like the way he clung, the way he acted hurt when Stiles didn’t always want to go over and hang out, like they were still in high school. 

Chris was indifferent to the boy, deciding that Stiles was old enough, and mentally strong enough to decide who he spent time with. 

Chris privately though it was good that Stiles have a friend outside the pack, especially since he still wasn't really talking to his dad. They tended to be a very exclusive group. Cora meeting Erica and her subsequent bite was about the only time an outsider had been allowed in, besides Chris himself, and as such, they tended to be territorial and possessive. It wasn’t a bad thing but, for a human, Chris knew it could be a bit much. 

Still, Chris didn’t like the look in his soulmate’s eyes when he came back from hanging out with Scott. He always returned looking overwhelmed and almost seemed more obligated, than excited to hang out. 

Chris brought it up one day when he picked Stiles up from the movie theater. He and Scott had gone to see some stupid action movie. Stiles had invited Chris, but he had declined, choosing to stay in town and run some errands. 

Stiles sighed when he got in the car, looked worn down as he closed his eyes and laid his head against the window. 

“Do you even like Scott?”

“I do. He’s my best friend. He’s a good guy, always trying to do the right thing.”

“Then why do you look like you’re exhausted?”

Stiles’ fingers tapped a rhythm on his leg, as he opened his tired eyes. “Scott’s always been a bit selfish. I mean, we all were. We were kids. But, it’s like he hasn’t grown up at all. He’s still worried about Kira and making her happy, and about passing school, and about if his new roommate next year is going to be nice. It all seems so petty.”

Chris’ breath caught, once again struck by how much Stiles had lost. He was young in so many ways, he was missing grown up life skills like driving and how money worked, and even a higher education, but he had also seen so much. He was older in many ways than his peers. It had become more noticeable now that he hung out with the pack kids. That was a maturity that shouldn’t be there, and it made Chris sad. 

Chris wanting to say the right thing as to not ruin their reconnecting friendship, without flat out saying Stiles might have outgrown his friend. “Is it possible that he just doesn’t want to bring up any bad memories for you, so he focuses on his own life?”

“Yeah. I guess. But I wish he wouldn't.”

“Tell him that.” 

Stiles flashed him a smile. “Guess it couldn’t hurt.”

It seemed to have helped, because after that, Scott was a common name in the house, spoken about often even if he never came over. 

\------  
The second and much more important thing was that Stiles asked Chris to teach him self-defense.

They had been sitting at dinner when he brought it up, surprising both Peter and Chris into silence. 

“I mean, I just think I should learn how to take care of myself. I’ve seen the way you guys watch me when we go out. You act like bodyguards. Plus, the whole never leave me alone at the house thing, though I don’t know what you expect Nora to be able to do if someone breaks in. Anyway, my point is, I want to be able to protect myself, at least until someone else can come to help.”

Stiles looked down and aggressively stabbed a potato. “I’m tired of being a damsel in distress.” 

Peter and Chris had a quick conversation with their eyebrows, before Chris agreed to train him. 

\-------  
They focused on endurance and evasion, as they were both easier to learn that attacking, not to mention more useful. 

Chris was pleased to find that even though Stiles wasn’t partially strong, he was fucking fast. They had raced, in the woods and he had smoked Chris, running nearly the whole two miles to the house at a near sprint. 

It was good. Werewolves tended to be sprinters due to their inability to pace themselves, deadly fast but not able to maintain pace over long distances. If Stiles could do enough damage to get even a minute’s head start, he could be able to escape. And if he could escape a werewolf, he could escape any human. 

So, they worked on hand to hand. How to escape holds, where to hit to cause maximum damage, when to scream to get the most attention. 

Stiles did well at all of them. Surprisingly well.

“My dad taught me all of this when I turned ten.” He said, while they stopped for water. “He was big on this sort of thing. He taught me how to escape a moving car too, and how to get out of ropes and cuffs. He didn’t want me to be a victim.”

The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on either one of them. 

They got into a routine. Either Chris or Peter ran with Stiles at least four days a week, usually through the woods. Peter was laughable slow, since he didn’t want to use his wolf speed and Stiles love the feeling of beating him. If they didn’t run because Peter and Chris were busy, then Stiles swam laps to get in his cardio. 

On the days they ran, Chris spent on hour on hand to hand, working on defense until Stiles could do the moves in his sleep. 

Then, three days a week, they worked on strength training. Reluctantly Chris gave Stiles the code to get into the basement, as that was where the home gym was, after making Stiles swear to never get into the locked cabinets where Chris kept his weapons. He didn’t even show him where he kept the key. 

They lifted weights and kickboxed mostly. Stiles never put on muscle mass, but he did get some definition. He looked healthy, as well as stronger. Not to mention, hot as hell.

Cora and Nora got into it as well, dragging Stiles to yoga and Zumba classes, where they all came back laughing and sweaty.

Or at least Nora was laughing. Cora pulled Chris to the side, a frown on her face. 

“A guy was watching Stiles after class.”

Chris frowned too. They had had trouble with that before. Beacon Hills wasn’t that big and the Sheriff’s long lost son, who was estranged from his father turned some heads.

“Watching you all or Stiles?”

“Stiles.”

“Did you catch a scent? What did he look like?”

Cora wrinkled her nose. “Too far away for a scent. He looked like an average white guy. 5’10 or ’11. Light brown or maybe blond. Nothing special.”

“Alright.”

It was enough to get Peter concerned again and make Chris worry. The younger wolves, and Peter searched the town and couldn’t find that man, but it was still disconcerting.

Chris stepped it up, just in case, training him even harder. Laura taught him the proper way to use pepper spray and Peter came up with some that was laced with wolfsbane for him to carry at all time, just in case. Derek brought over some protein shakes that would help him build muscles that actually tasted decent.

Stiles gained more and more confidence as he got stronger, his mental health improving even more as he stopped feeling so helpless. His panic attacks became rare and he was more vocal about giving his options. It was a nice change, a glimpse at who he should have been from the start.

His only problem through all the training was that he had a tendency drop his left arm and leave that side vulnerable, but since it was the one that had been broken, that wasn’t odd. If they could fix that, he would be a formidable fighter. 

Peter watched it all with a gleam in his eyes, always praising his younger soulmate, but also pushing him to go faster, to be better. 

“He’s phenomenal. A natural. We should teach him to use a blade,” he commentated, as Stiles swept Laura’s legs as she taught him a few moves she learned at the academy. She landed hard, not keeping her balance even using her supernatural gifts. “No one would ever hurt him again.”

As it began to draw into the dry sweltering days of August that signaled the end of summer, Chris was beginning to think that Peter was right. No one would ever hurt him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you, all for all the wonderful kudos and comments! It means to much to me that people are enjoying this fic, not matter how slow the updates are!!!!


	17. Chapter 17

Chris woke to a knee in the middle of his back but he couldn’t help but smile. Because the knee was Stiles’. Who was climbing into to bed with them, a tangle of uncoordinated limbs, as had recently become his habit. He wasn’t ready to simply sleep in the bed the whole night, but as soon as he woke, he crawled in and spooned Chris until he awakened. 

A sudden exhale let Chris know that Peter had been hit by a flailing limb as well. “We need a bigger bed,” the wolf complained, face half-smushed into his pillow, voice still rough from the early hour. 

It was a sign of how far Stiles had come that he didn’t immediately take it as in insult or start apologizing for being an inconvenience and get down. Instead, he simply snuggled in closer against Chris’ back. 

He had been doing much better lately. Now that their soul bonding was complete, all three of them were much more contented and at peace as they learned how to maneuver their new emotional tethers.

In fact, they were becoming comfortable enough with their new dynamic that all the annoying habits and idiosyncrasies were finally coming back into their lives, annoying each other in unique way. Like how Stiles always left the toilet seat up, or Chris never hung up his towel after a long shower. How Peter still worked too much and had to learn to apologize out loud because that something Stiles seemed to need. Like how Chris tended to see everything as a battle to be won, giving out unwanted advice when his partners only wanted someone to vent to. 

It was often messy, sometimes loud, but Chris wouldn’t have it any other way. They were all working on their issues but each little thing that was so annoying, each oddity Chris found out about Stiles just made him love his soulmate more. And from the adoring way Peter looked at their third, he felt the same way. 

“Hey Chris?” 

A cautions voice broke him from his mussing and he turned over to face Stiles, raising a sleepy eyebrow. 

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles fair skin showed a heavy blush. “Properly. On the lips. On purpose this time.”

Chris heart jumped as he sat up straight, unwilling to have this conversation laying down. Stiles did as well, though he shifted away, trying to huddle against the headboard. But Peter wouldn’t let him, pressing him carefully towards Chris. 

“Of course.” Chris voice shook slightly. “I will, we can do anything you’re comfortable with. If you’re ready for that, then yes.”

Stiles looked relieved, the lines on his forehead relaxing and he started to move in. Chris placed a hand kindly on the younger man’s check, stopping him short. 

“But I would like to know why. Why now?”

Stiles ducked his head. “I dunno.”

Peter shook his head, letting Chris know it was a lie. “Not good enough sweetheart.”

Stiles seemed to be struggling with himself, face going even more red as his hands clenched into fists and he wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. 

“I want you to be my first.” He finally spit out.

Chris was confused, unsure of what exactly he would be the first off. He knew Stiles had had sex before, consensual or not. Hell he and Stiles had even kissed once before, though it had been accidental. It was one of the things that they didn’t talk about, one of the things they pretended didn’t happen so that Stiles could get through the day without collapsing. Chris didn’t care if it was healthy or not. It was what Stiles wanted, what he needed right now. And if Stiles wanted to pretend he was a virgin or never been kissed, Chris didn’t seem the harm. 

“Ok.”

Stiles looked up, eyes blazing and jaw set. “You’re not, not really. I’ve been with plenty of people, guys and girls. Some wanted me simply because I was a warm body to fuck. Some wanted to not feel so damn lonely for a night. Some wanted me to hurt, some wanted me to feel safe when I really wasn’t. But you, both of you really, are the first to make me feel like you want me because you care. And Chris, you cared about me from the start, from the moment you saw me on that ledge. Even when it wasn’t easy, even when Peter couldn’t stand me, you cared so fucking much.”

Peter made a small sound of protest but didn’t argue. 

“You want me because of me, not because of you.” Stiles moved in closer, until Chris could see every fleck of gold in his eyes. “So, I want you to be the first person to kiss me because you love me.”

Chris couldn’t have said no even if he wanted to, not after the way Stiles had laid himself bare. 

Their lips met, slightly dry from sleeping all night, but still soft. Stiles pressed in closer, opening his lips just slightly, his tongue slipping out and licking Chris’ lips, before retreating. It was soft and kind, warm and inviting, a contrast from Peter’s passion, but wonderful all the same. 

Stiles pulled away, pupils blown and panting slightly. Chris felt slightly dazed as well. He had actually only ever kissed Peter. His hunting training was too rigid to allow any time for flirtations as a teenager and after he had soul boned it felt wrong to kiss anyone else, even before he and Peter were officially together.

Peter’s kisses were fire and passion, heat and light. Stiles had been like slipping underwater, comforting and urgent at the same time. 

“I love you.” Chris said, having no other words. 

Stiles bit his lip, then turned around and gave Peter a quick peck on the lips, before fleeing the bedroom, heading for the guest bathroom.

“Holy fuck.” Peter said, flopping back down on the bed. “I was not expecting that this morning.”

“Yeah” Chris joined him, still slightly bewildered. “Yeah. That was” 

“Unexpected.”

“Amazing.”

“We’re going to need have a family talk soon, about sex. We’ll need to know his triggers. How to make it as unproblematic as possible for him.”

Chris frowned. “It’s a long way from a kiss to sex. 

Peter snorted. “He’s jerking off right now. 

Chris smacked him in the arm, knowing it would feel like a pat to the werewolf. “It’s rude to listen in.”

Peter rolled over to face him, a playful look in his eyes. “It’s not like I do it on purpose. It’s hard to turn off. Besides, there are no secrets in a werewolf pack.”

“Still. That’s gross. And an invasion of privacy.”

“It’s the first time he has done it since he’s been here.”

Stiles had been with them for months now. Chris couldn’t believe he hadn’t needed any "alone time" yet.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Peter moved wickedly fast, on top of Chris before he knew it. He pressed an urgent kiss to his lips.

“We have plenty of time.”

Chris kissed back, moving his hands down his husband’s back, the ghost of Stiles’ kiss still on his lips.

\-------  
By the time Chris and Peter finished and took their own showers, Stiles had breakfast well on the way, bustling about making pancakes and bacon, humming as he went, already dressed in his running clothes. The kitchen had become his domain as much as Peter’s, though he was always happy to have Chris chop some veggies or simply lean against the counter and talk. 

Chris brushed a kiss to his cheek as he went for a cup of coffee, pleased that his soulmate was so happy and feeling a bit of pride that he was the one who made him that way.

“Good morning,” Stiles said, motioning for Peter to come over as well, then turning his head so that Peter could press a kiss on his other cheek. 

Peter blushed as he did, clearly pleased as well. Chris made a mental note that their little boundary’s talk might need to be sooner than later.

Still, it was wonderful to see Peter and Stiles get along so well. It really hadn’t taken much. Once Peter stopped obsessing over what might be and started paying attention to what he had, he and Stiles had bonded quickly, though the physicality of today was new. 

Not that Peter had completely given up the hunt for Stiles’ kidnappers. He way slowly making a list of all alphas in North America, no small task and not one that anyone had attempted, considering the chaos of overthrows that constancy happened on the East Coast. Only now he only spent an hour or so a night on it, instead of every waking moment he was home. 

Chris didn’t ask what he planned to do once he had the list done. Probably hunt each one down and make sure it wasn’t them who took Stiles.

Chris was actually able to help Peter with his list a bit. He had promised himself not to ask directly about the kidnappers anymore, as it was one of the things that was still guaranteed to set off a panic attack. 

Instead, he simply listened to what Stiles didn’t say. He saw the way Stiles always flinched away from the teenage checkout boy with the strong jawline, even though he wasn’t bother by anyone else. He noticed how Stiles flipped the channel when the TV show with the twins who fixed houses was on. He watched how Stiles always wanted to know how to escape the grip of someone much stronger. He paid attention when Stiles asked how to fight two people who moved in perfect sync. 

In the end, Chris figured their kidnapper’s profile was a white male, only slightly taller than Stiles, but much heavier, and probably mid to late 20’s. He also had a sinking suspicious it might have been brothers. 

It gave Peter a way to at least narrow down his ever-growing list, however slightly. 

“So, guy, what’s the plan for Cora?”

Chris looked at him blankly. 

“For Cora’s birthday? It’s this weekend. What are we getting her? Should we go over there early and help out with the cooking? Who is in charge of the cake? I can make it if she wants.”

Chris really hadn’t thought about it. He knew Cora’s birthday was coming up, but in a sort of abstract way. It was August, and her birthday was always the pack’s last summer hurrah before school started back up for the kids. 

“I was thinking a nice Prius.”

“Peter. No.” Chris said, knowing full well how Talia felt about her kids having cars. They always wrecked them, which wasn’t so bad, but when they walked away from the wrecks without a scratch each time, it had raised some eyebrows.

“Yeah, Peter. You can’t just buy people cars.”

Well technically they could afford it, but Chris wasn’t sure Stiles really understood how well-off Peter and Chris were. He still looked a little blank when he shopped for groceries, like he wasn’t exactly sure how much things should cost, and he always asked twice before even thinking about buying something online. 

“It would be nice to have another car in the family.” Peter countered, giving Chris a look. “The kids could have more freedom.”

"No."

“What about food?” Stiles had his notebook out now, working out a rough menu. "How many do I need to cook for?"

“I think Talia is catering in, since she is still out of town and doesn’t have time to cook.” Peter said, shooting their alpha a text to be sure. “And Cora loves the chocolate cheesecake from that cute little bakery in San Francesco, the one that makes those cookies you like so much. I’m in charge of picking up for desserts.”

“Oh.” Stiles looked put out for half a second, before he picked up his pen again. “Cora likes chocolate right? We could do a chocolate candy bar station for her. All kinds of candies, cookies, the works. It could be a surprise.” 

It took them most of breakfast to work it all out. In the end, Peter agreed to talk to Talia before buying his niece a car. They decided to get her a nice spa day for her and a guest, although Stiles insisted on also getting her a Wonder Woman messenger bag for school, just from him. Chris talked Stiles down from hijacking dessert, saying that some nice cupcakes would probably be more appreciated for those who didn’t care for cheesecake, than an entire chocolate buffet.

Stiles went off to call her to make sure he had the time right, his entire breakfast eaten. 

Chris sighed as he cleaned up breakfast, pushing Peter out the door as he was already late for work, and mentally going over what he and Stiles could do to train today. The kid had all kinds of energy, hyped up on party talk. If they didn’t burn it off, it was going to be a long week. 

\-------  
Stiles was vibrating with excitement as the pulled up to the Hale house. Chris was glad that Peter was holding the cupcakes and the cheesecake, because if Stiles had been, he was certain they would be all over the floor of the SUV. 

“You alright?” Chris asked, torn between amused and concerned. The Hale house was large and imposing. Not to mention the entire family would be there, including Talia, who he still hadn't been introduced too. The possibilities for Stiles to be overwhelmed were endless.

“I’m good” He looked good, flashing them a grin. “It’s Cora’s birthday! What could go wrong?”

Hopefully nothing. The party was simply, by Hale standards. Family only, just a simple dinner. Cora them planned on going out later with Erica, Boyd, Laura and Derek to get wasted, courtesy of the wolfbane spiked whiskey Peter had procured somewhere. 

“Don’t tempt fate sweetheart.” Peter said, as they got out of the car.

Cora meet them at the door, squealing with excitement as she grabbed Stiles had to show him around the house, the other younger Hales following, all talking over each other, like it had been weeks since they had seen each other instead of days.

Peter and Chris grabbed a drink from James, before wandering to the living room. Peter looked comfortable as he flopped on the couch. As much as the wolf loved their little house, this would always be the pack house to him. 

They were laughing over their second drinks, Chris mildly ashamed how quickly he was feeling the alcohol, when Peter straitened up, flashing his blue eyes. 

“Ah the prodigal alpha returns.”

“Shut up Peter,” Talia came in, followed by Grandma Hale, both looking travel-worn and wrinkled. “I literally just got back in. Again.”

“Of course. But perhaps if you told me what you’ve been up to, I could cut your work in half. It is my job, after all.” Peter’s voice was lawyer sweet and slimy. 

“Does it have to do with Stiles?” Chris interrupted, knowing the sibling could snip at each other for hours and get nowhere. 

“Maybe. I have a few contacts that remember a couple of young werewolves working their way across America towards California a few years ago. One of them might have been an alpha.” 

Talia grabbed Peter’s whiskey and finished in a single swallow. 

“Bullshit.” Peter said, snatching the glass back. “My contacts didn’t have anything.”

“Well we have different contacts. Alpha privilege.”

Peter sneered. He never did have patience for the politics that went along with being an alpha. 

“Who are they? What did you find out?”

“Nikita and Misha Ivanov. They are a set of twins out of New York city. Headed out west years ago, apparently looking for sanctuary in Beacon Hills. Only they never got here.”

“Who told you?” Peter said, looking uninterested but clenching his glass a little too tight.

“Alpha Mary Yager, in Illinois.”

“I talked to her Second. Jack would have told me if someone had come through their territory.”

Talia shook her head. “I went over to for tea. You threatened Jack with leaking porn videos from years ago. Besides, you weren’t looking far enough back. These kids were headed west nearly eight years ago, not the four or five you were looking for.”

“Fuck!” Peter snarled, letting his beta shift take him, as he raged against his alpha. “You should have fucking called me Tal. He’s my soulmate, not yours and it’s my fight-not fucking yours.”

Chris signed internally; only Peter could see finally having a lead as a bad thing. The room went silent, as the tension grew the only sound the distant laughs of the kids yelling in the other room. Talia flashed her eyes red in return but didn’t stand to the challenge, bowing her head slightly in apology.

“Tell us everything.” Chris said.

“There isn’t much else to say. Mary said she only remembered them because they tried to sneak through without announcing themselves, but one of her betas caught them stealing from a grocery store. They had a sob story, but it was true, according to their heartbeats. They were a small family pack, their alpha and their father and alpha went mad, tried to kill them all. The twins worked together and took him down, but the rest of the family rejected them. So they ran. She thought one was an alpha, but not a powerful one, and she couldn’t tell which. Mary gave them a place to say for a few nights, some cash to get them down the road. For there I was able to track them, until they ended up in Vegas, about five years ago.”

Chris frowned. Vegas was one of the supernatural sanctuary cities, no alphas officially held the territory, but it wasn’t very nice. Most of the sups that went in didn’t come back out. 

“Anything after that?”

“Not yet.” Talia’s face was hard. “Their names vanish. No credit cards, rentals, or even people who remember them besides Mary. They were both born wolves, so there aren’t any pictures to use for facial recognition, even if we could get access to the systems.” 

It was good news, even though Peter was shaking his head in frustration. A couple names to work with, plus the descriptions that Chris had figured out. They were getting there and Peter was very good at what he did. A few more weeks, and they would have the alphas.

The background laughter got louder, followed by a yelp that sounded a lot like Stiles, and a dull thud.

“Shit,” Chris quickly got up, the others following, to see what his youngest soulmate had gotten into, just in time to hear a crash. He ran towards the sound, the others following at a more sedate pace.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as Chris had thought. There was no blood or severed limbs at least, just Nora standing next to the shattered remains of a decorative vase in the entry way, the other kids standing to the side looking equality as guilty. 

“Seriously Nora!” Talia said, voice still sharp from their earlier tense conversations. 

She stepped forward as Nora dropped her head at the rebuke. “Sorry Mom. I didn’t know you were home already.”

Talia sighed, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. She was used to constant property destruction as she was raising actual animals and it took more than a broken vase to rattle her. “What are we going to do with you?”

There was half a smile on her face as she put her arms up, going in for a hug. But before she could take more than a step, Stiles was there, literally pushing Nora out of the way. 

Nora cried out as she hit the ground and every werewolf in the room flinched. Laura moving forward to her little sister, with a wary eye on Stiles in case he went towards her. But Stiles didn’t try. Instead, he dropped to his knees, neck extended to the side, and eyes fixed at the ground and voice flat as the basement floor. 

“Alpha, please. It wasn’t her fault Alpha. It was mine. Please, please don’t hurt her.”

The room went deadly silent as everyone froze. 

Chris’ heart jumped. Stiles knew. Of fucking course, he knew.

Peter grabbed Chris’ arm and squeezed hard. “I knew it” he whispered. 

Chris ignored him, knowing full well that he would have to deal with his guilt over not believing his husband, but currently more worried on the scene before him. 

“Stiles, I’m not going to hurt her.” Talia put her hands up submissively, moving carefully forward a step. 

He continued on like he hadn’t ever heard her. “I was the one who was chasing her. I was the reason the vase broke. Please, take me instead. She is just a kid, a human kid, Alpha, she didn’t mean it.”

He pulled his shirt to the side, exposing his neck to show his absolute submission. Chris looked on in horror, feeling the bile rise to his throat.

Stiles' skin was covered in scars. Some white and healed, some still red and irritated. All at the collarbone, right where the neck met shoulder,. Where werewolves bit to claim, or to force prey to submit. 

He should have seen the scars before. They had lived together for months now. But Stiles was ever so careful about his shirts, always wearing shirts with collars, even his swim shirt covered most of his neck. 

“Take me instead,” Stiles said again, eyes focusing on Talia now, instead of the floor. “Take me.”

His eyes were distant, and Chris could see the tremors racking his body. A panic attack was just under his skin, breathe hitching dangerously but he was controlling it, forcing it down like he used to do when he had first arrived.

Chris didn’t know what to do, frighten to move forward and pick Stiles up, as much as he wanted to. He wanted to wrap him in a hug, take him away, assure him that everything was fine but he was fucking terrified about how the kid would react. Chris couldn’t help the tears in his own eyes as he looked to Peter for support. 

Peter’s face was deadly calm as he hissed at the others to move away, to leave them alone in a voice so quiet there was no way Stiles had heard him give the order. The pack silently dispersed, but even Chris could tell they stopped just out of eyesight, unwilling to leave entirely. 

“Stiles.” Peter’s voice was soft. “Stiles it’s okay.”

“Alpha.” Stiles whined, apparently too far gone to hear him, eyes never leaving Talia face. 

Peter moved slowly, until he was in directly in front of Stiles. He sunk to his knees as well, so that he was eye to eye with his soulmate. 

“Stiles look at me.”

“Peter,” he slurred, trying to push him away with weak arms. “Peter don’t. She’ll get angry.”

“Stiles, it’s okay. I’m here, I’ll protect you. No one is going to get angry.”

Stiles eyes flickered to Peter, before going back to Talia.

“I need you to trust me. Talia isn’t mad. No one is. It was an accident, that’s all. You can look at me. You’re alright.”

Chris was scared to breathe, frightened that this might be the thing that finally broke Stiles. He was shaking like he hadn’t since he was a teenage fighting monsters in the dark of the woods, praying for Peter to get through to Stiles, for his soulmate to be alright, to snap out of this without doing any more damage to his fragile mind. 

Peter gently put his hands on either side on Stiles’ face, murmuring comforting words over and over. Finally, Stiles looked at Peter, who let his eyes flare their impossible blue. 

Stiles shuttered, before he went boneless, pressing his face into Peter’s chest.

“Oh sweetheart.” He ran a hand lightly over the scars. “Sweetheart, what did they do to you?”


	18. Chapter 18

“Let’s go to my study.” Talia said, having watched the interaction with a horrified look on her face. Chris nodded, wanting to get out of the entryway and away from the younger members of the pack. He could hear Nora crying already and didn’t want her to have to witness any more of the pain Stiles carried. 

Peter picked Stiles up and carried him in, placing him on the small couch were he and Chris book-ended him. Chris couldn’t help wrapping an arm around him, even though Stiles had yet pull his head up from where it was buried in Peter’s chest. Peter stroked his soulmates’ head absentmindedly, too busy listening to the rest of the pack to hesitating in tactically comforting his soulmate. 

Talia didn’t follow right away, staying in the hall for several minutes. “She’s calling Deaton” Peter explained over Stiles head. “Asking him to come.”

Chris nodded, understanding the potential need for the druid, he was the emissary after all, but not liking it. James snuck in while she was still on the phone, bringing some tea and sugar cookies, though he didn’t stay, knowing it wasn’t his place.

“Eat something, Stiles.” James said with a forced smile as he shut the door. “The sugar will help.”

About the same time that Stiles calmed enough to raise his head for Chris to feed him a cookie, Deaton and Talia walked in. The cookie was abandoned as Stiles shied away, even though, the alpha was careful to appear nonthreatening. She moved slowly and sat as far from Stiles as the room allowed and her face was carefully blank, eyes human and teeth blunt.

Deaton, however, came directly up to Stiles, ignoring the flinch and the way he tried to hide his face behind Peter. 

“May I?” He asked, reaching out for Stiles' hands. Stiles looked to Chris, who nodded, trusting Deaton even if he didn’t understand what he was doing. Peter growled deep in his chest but didn’t stop him. The druid held Stiles' hands palm up for a long moment, before taking some liquid from a silver flask and drawing a ruin on the palm of his hands that disappeared instantly before stepping away. 

“Thank you.”

“What the fuck was that?” Peter snarled. 

Deaton looked unimpressed at the posturing. “Something to help me figure out Mr. Stilinski’s past.”

“That is decidedly unhelpful.”

Talia cut them off with a sharp look, then began to hand out the cups of tea. Chris took a drink of his before setting it aside, pleased to find it had a strong pull of whiskey in it. Stiles took his, but didn’t drink, instead watching Talia’s every movement with wide, fearful eyes. 

“So, Stiles,” She said calmly, as though this was a business brunch, “We haven’t been formally introduced. I’m Talia Hale, Alpha to the Hale pack.”

Stiles didn’t say anything, but Chris could tell he was physically stopping himself from going to his knees, every muscle tense. 

“Can you tell me your name?”

“Stiles. Stiles Stilinski.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. May I ask your rank?”

“Omega.”

Chris jerked back, memories of a thin hopeless man on a ledge, claiming they had made them his omega hitting him like a fucking truck. 

Fuck. Stiles had told him from the start. He should have known. He could have saved Stiles so much pain if he had simply listened.

And Peter had told him too. Peter had known without even being told. Son of a bitch-it made so much sense.

The way Stiles acted when he first met Peter, Derek too really. The way he was careful with his scents when he first moved in. The way he watched for danger constantly, even in places that should have been safe, by human standards. The way he would never go to his father’s house for fear of being seen and had a panic attack when they went to the Sheriff’s department. He hadn't wanted his scent there. He didn’t want other wolves to be able to read the chemosignals he left behind and know how much he loved and missed his dad.

And Chris simply hadn’t fucking listened. He had wanted so badly to put the kidnapping behind him that he had ignored the obvious signs, putting his head in the ground rather than face the harsh truth. 

“You’ve known all along. That the Hale family is werewolves.” 

Stiles nodded, eyes pleading something Chris couldn’t read. “I thought Peter was the alpha first, that you were a pet just like me. It was the way he walked and held himself. It screamed power. But he ever let his eyes flash or anything, so I wasn’t sure. And he never acted like an alpha. He never forced me to do anything or ran his hands all over me. He never hurt me. Neither did you. And you guys really seemed to love each other.”

Chris felt like his heart was breaking with every word his soulmate spoke. 

“Eventually I thought maybe he was an omega, that maybe you didn’t even know. But then the kids started coming over and they were wolves. They treated him like one of them and it all made sense. He’s a beta. So are you, even though you are human.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

His eyes darted back to Talia, before focusing back on Chris. “For so long you kept me away from the rest of the pack. I thought you were protecting them from me because you didn’t trust me. That you didn’t want me to know. But then I met Cora and Derek, then everyone else. And I started to feel less broken. I didn’t want you to take them away. So, I kept my mouth shut.”

“How long have you been aware of the existence of werewolves?” Talia took back over the conversation effortlessly as Chris struggled to think of the words to assure Stiles that had never been true. That they had been trying to protect Stiles by keeping the others away, trying to keep him calm and not overwhelm him. 

Stiles shrugged, panic pouring out so viscerally from him that Chris could smell it, even with his weak human nose. “Around the time they took me.”

“A wolf took you. He’s your alpha now. Still.” Peter said, but it wasn’t a question. His face was shrewd, like he was already miles ahead of the conversation. Stiles nodded. 

“Who is your alpha?” Talia asked softly, but the alpha command was clear. 

Stiles shuttered. “I. I don’t know.”

“Lie. Stiles tell me.”

Stiles’ face was twitching, his jaw clenching and unclenching frantically, teeth grinding. He grabbed at Chris’ hand and he let his soulmate take it and hold it tight. 

“Its. Fuck! Fuck. Please, alpha, please. I don’t know.”

“Tell me!”

Talia’s eyes glowed a deep blood red. Stiles squeezed Chris hand so hard he was cutting in with his nails, his face turning a dangerous shade of red as he stammered and tried to speak. 

Peter was fully wolfed out now, clearly going wild with the need to comfort his soulmate as he suffered, but knowing his alpha had to ask these questions. He clenched his hands into fists, the bones white under his skin and blood flowing out as he claws cut himself. 

“If I may,” Deaton interrupted, breaking the power Talia had over the human for the moment. Stiles took a deep breath, like a physical weight had gotten off his chest. Tears ran down his face and he clutched at both his soulmates. 

“I don’t think Stiles is deliberately withholding information. I believe he is under his alpha’s command to keep his identity and the others in the pack a secret.”

An Alpha command was law, nearly impossible to break. 

“That was why he kept having panic attacks when we asked.” Peter snarled. “He literally couldn't tell us. Fuck. Fucking bastards. I’m going to rip them apart.” 

“At least in part. Thought I’m sure his mental state is a bit unsteady due to the trauma as well.”

“How do we break it?”

“You can’t.” 

Peter roared and stood, grabbing Deaton by the shirt and pulling him up. “If you think that I’m going to let another alpha have one more second of control of my soulmate, you have another thing coming. I will gut you and leave your rotting corpse for the fucking birds. Fix him!”

“Peter!” Talia admonished, eyes flaring, “Put him down.”

Peter obeyed, the normally placid Deaton looking a bit worried as he faced Stiles again. “All I meant was, we can’t break it. You’re going to have to. You can leave his pack Stiles. Leave his pack and join the Hale’s. You’ve already started; I know you have formed pack bonds with some of the others. Simply finish what you’re started.”

Stiles looked lost. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Peter knelt down in front of him. “You can. Talia is a good alpha. She is nothing like that monster who had you. Do you think Cora and Derek and Laura and all the others would stay if she wasn’t? Do you think I would? I promised you would be safe Stiles, and you will be safe with her.”

Stiles turned his tear stained eyes to Chris who nodded in agreement.

“She’s my alpha too. I trust her with my life and Peter’s.” He pressed a soft kiss to Stiles’ forehead. “I trust her with yours.”

Stiles set his jaw and looked at the druid. “How?”

“Close your eyes and look for the bonds,” Talia answered instead, coming over and putting a hand on his neck, pushing Peter aside and moving to a crouch so her red eyes were all he could see. Stiles shuttered but didn’t move away. “Look for your soulmates, your friends. I know you can feel them. I can feel you too. I just need to you embrace it.”

Every heartbeat felt like an eternity, as Stiles closed his eyes, his raspy breaths the loudest thing in the room. He curled farther and farther into himself, face twisting in pain.

Chris looked up at Peter, worried. “Is he hurting? Should this hurt?”

Peter’s arm went black as he stole the pain, the only answer Chris needed. 

A scream ripped its way out of Stiles as he began to thrash, trying to pull away from Talia. 

“He broke the bond. Violently.” Deaton said, pulling out some sort of glowing stone out of his pocket and looking bewildered. 

“Find me Stiles.” Talia shouted over the screams. “I’m reaching out, just find me.”

The shrieks only got louder, blood pouring from his nose and bitten lip. There was a half second where Stiles ceased to breathe, where his heart skipped a beat, but before Chris could panic, energy burst out of his soulmate, slamming into him and out of the room, shattering the tea cups and cracking the window. 

“Jesus.” Chris whispered, as Stiles sobbed, pressing his face into Chris' shoulder. Peter wrapped his arms around both of them. 

The bonds, both pack and soulmate were practically thrumming with power. He felt ten years younger. Peter meet his eyes and nodded that he felt the same. 

“Interesting,” Deaton said, the stone that once glowed in his hand now crushed to sand. 

\-------  
Chaos erupted all over the house. As soon as Stiles stopped screaming, Laura burst into the room, wolfed out, followed closely by Derek. They ambushed their mother demanding answers. Chris could hear Nora crying in the hall and Cora yelling on the phone, presumable with Erica or Boyd, the only two pack mates that weren’t here, explaining what was going on. James was the only calm one, quietly coming in and cleaning up the broken china off the floor so no humans got cut before leaving silently.

Chris tuned it all out, choosing to focus only on Stiles. He didn’t seem to be panicking as much as crying in release, so Chris let him, running his hand over his back and whispering kind words in his ear. Peter stayed as well, a steel backbone for them both to lean against, continuing to drain whatever physical pain Stiles was feeling. 

By the time Stiles stopped crying, the room was empty, and the hysterical feeling he had felt from each of the packs bond had faded to a simple concern. 

“We should go home,” Chris said, mostly speaking to Peter since the crying jag seemed to have worn Stiles out. He laid placidly in his arms, eyes swollen and face blotchy. Chris felt tired as well, exhausted from the emotions of the day. 

Peter nodded, pulling his youngest soulmate carefully to his feet, but Stiles stopped, refusing to go out the door. 

“I want to stay.” He swayed even as he stood. “It’s Cora’s birthday. I want to stay.”

Peter and Chris exchanged a look. Chris had forgotten all about poor Cora’s birthday that they were meant to be celebrating. 

“Whatever you want sweetheart.” Peter pressed a kiss to his forehead.

The others must have heard Stiles, or at least felt the same, because Derek and Nora were setting up the living room for a full pack pile by the time they walked in, having taken out nearly every blanket, pillow and eggcrate the family owned to make the floor into a huge bed . A movie was already on the TV, paused on the start menu. 

Cora came in and pulled Stiles into a carefully hug, watching carefully for any signs he wanted her to stop. Chris wondered how much Talia had told them. “How are you feeling?”

Stiles looked down but didn’t pull away. “I’m alright. A little worn out maybe. Sorry I ruined your birthday,”

“Hey.” Stiles looked up at her hopefully. “You didn’t ruin anything. I got a new pack brother and I get to be a crazy werewolf around you now. I couldn’t ask for anything else.”

Stiles grinned as Cora pressed a kiss to his check, deliberately scenting him. She grabbed a blanket and pulled Stiles down on one of the eggcrates, claiming the spot beside him as birthday girl privilege.

The rest of the pack gradually filed in. The fancy catered meal Talia arranged was divided onto paper plates and handed out. Derek brought Stiles one; neither Peter nor Chris wanted to leave him long enough to get food. None of them were very hungry, but Chris knew that whatever Stiles had gone through had to have taken a lot of energy and encouraged him to eat, though he wasn’t that successful.

They watched the movie mindlessly and surprisingly quietly considering how many people were crammed in the room. The entire pack was happy enough to simply be with their new packmate. Even Erica and Boyd snuck in after a bit, any thoughts of going out to party long gone. 

The family, the pack, fell asleep like that, all wrapped up tight in each other’s arm, the warm of bodies comforting tired bones as the sounds of heartbeats playing a living lullaby.

\------  
Chris woke up in a panic. Stiles wasn’t in his arms. And he was no longer in the living room. 

“Calm down. I brought you upstairs around midnight. You’re too old to be sleeping on the floor.” Peter was on the other side of the bed looking well rested as he teased. 

Chris refused to be placated, though he was grateful to recognize the bedroom as the one he and Peter always used at the pack house. “Where’s Stiles?”

“Downstairs. Derek carried him up the same time I took you but he was up early. He said he needed time to think.”

Chris frowned, but Peter just kissed the wrinkles. “He’s fine. I can hear him. He’s just sitting on the porch drinking coffee. Besides, James is in the kitchen making breakfast. He’ll hear if anything happens.”

Chris finally calmed, letting Peter pull him close. They kissed lazily for a while, but neither really wanted to go any further. 

“I can feel him. His pack bond. And all the other’s, they feel different. Strong.” Chris said finally, breaking away. 

Peter huffed. “They are strong. Something happened last night. Something I suspect we will need Deaton to figure out.”

Peter stood and pulled on his pants that had been folded on the back of a chair. “Something to be worried about later. For now, let’s go get breakfast.”

They finished dressing and went downstairs. James had pancakes and all the sides ready to go, though no one else was up save Talia who was helping him plate up the food while drinking a strong cup of coffee. 

Stiles must have seen them come down, because he joined them, looking serious, but somehow more settled than ever before. 

He pressed a kiss to both Chris and Peter’s cheeks, before turning to smile at James. “Smells amazing.”

They settled in to eat, as the kids slowly wandered down one at a time, the meal becoming more and more chaotic with each addition. Chris watched it fondly, grateful for the millionth time for his pack. 

“Stiles.” Talia said, breaking the general chatter as everyone finished up. “I want to talk to you about your place in this pack.”

Stiles nodded, looking terrified and the room went silent. Chris grabbed his hand under the table. 

“You said you were an omega before.”

“Yes Alpha.”

“You aren’t any more. I want to make that perfectly clear right now. You are a beta, same as my children, the same as Peter and Chris. You are equal in the pack and n one will ever hurt you or order you around. That is not how we work.”

Stiles looked to Peter, who nodded in agreement. 

“I promise.” Chris added as well. “Whatever being their omega meant, that is never your role in this pack. In this pack, we just want you to be yourself.”

“Thank you Alpha.” His soulmate looked significantly less terrified as he looked around the room at all the encouraging faces. 

“Talia is fine.” She smiled widely, teasingly gently.

“Talia then.” Stiles offered her a shy smile in return then took a deep breath. “And on that note, I think I have a story I need to tell you. Chris and Peter too. I need to tell you what happened, so you can keep the pack safe. Because the alphas that took me are coming for me. And if I’m in your pack now, they are coming for you too.”

Chris was simultaneously terrified and relieved, grateful and worried that it was all coming out, that they were finally going to get the truth. He grabbed Peter’s hand as he stood, while not releasing Stiles’. He wanted to comfort both of them, wanted to be the backbone he knew they would need today. 

Talia nodded solemnly, motioning them to her office again. Stiles waited until Peter and Chris were beside him to follow. 

“And I think it’s time to call my dad.”

\-------  
The Sheriff arrived quickly, already dressed in his uniform despite the early hour. Derek showed him to Talia’s office, where the others were all waiting. Stiles was surprisingly calm, sitting patiently on the couch beside Chris while Talia worked at her desk. Peter was making up for his soulmate’s calmness by pacing the room until Chris was ready to scream at him. 

John went straight to his son, ignoring everyone else. Stiles stood and reached out a for a hug, which his father gladly took. It lasted longer than Chris had the patience for, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that the Sheriff might not show it properly and yes, he had allowed Stiles to push him away without even putting up a fight, but he truly loved and missed his son. Peter had no such qualms, as he loudly cleared his throat over and over until they broke apart, Stiles immediately sitting down again, running a hand over his head nervously. Chris was glad that he had finally cut his hair so he couldn’t pull it, though it was growing out again.

“So what’s going on? Why did you call me? Is everything okay?” The Sheriff stood over Stiles while glaring at everyone else, with his arms crossed in full cop mode.

Talia gestured at the chair in front of her, but John didn’t take it. “Stiles asked us to call you. He’s says he is ready to talk about what happened.”

At that, John sunk into the chair across from his son, leaving Peter as the only one still standing. “Is that true?”

Stiles nodded, his face pale but determined. He reached out and grabbed Chris' hand.

“Off the record. I just. I need to tell you. To tell you all. And I only want to say it once.” He glanced around the room at the serious faces. "Now that I can.”

John looked nervous but he nodded. Chris wasn’t feeling too calm himself. He knew it was going to be bad. How bad, that was what frightened him. 

“Aright.” Stiles took a deep breath. “First off Dad, werewolves are real.”

“Son.” John’s face was blank and he paused for a long time. “I think we need to get you back to a hospital. I’ll call Melissa. She’ll help us get you someplace good. We can get through whatever these delusions are.”

“Peter, show him.”

Peter grinned, then shifted into full beta, eyes glowing blue. 

“Holy fucking shit!” John had his gun out impressively fast, but Chris was just as fast in standing and unarming him. 

It took long time to calm John down, Talia fielding his many questions and giving him the basics of werewolves as quickly as possible. 

“I can’t believe this. It makes so much sense. I had so many cases, so many times I thought I was just missing something. Now I know what.”

Talia nodded understandingly. “I know. I'm sorry. I’ve debated telling you many times, but ultimately, our safety though secrecy was more important.”

“What about my son’s safety? Is this why you were taken son, because of them?”

Stiles looked down. “It wasn’t because of them. It was. It was a lot of different reasons. Basically I stuck by nose where it didn’t belong, and it came back bloody.”

“I don’t understand. If it wasn’t because of the Hales, why did you stay away from me so long?”

“Werewolves took me, Dad. Different ones, bad ones that aren’t like the Hales. They would have killed you in a heartbeat. ”

A cascade of questions followed from everyone, even those who already knew. Cries of who, where, how, and Peter’s never-ending promise to gut them. Stiles shrunk back into himself, looking too damn much like the broken boy Chris had found. 

“Shut up!” Talia ordered as the din grew, eyes flashing until the questions stopped. “This isn’t helping anything.”

Stiles took a deep breath. “I’ll tell you everything. Everything I can. But no questions and don’t interrupt me. I don’t know if I can start again if I stop.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for implied child abuse, a touch of homophobia, and non-continual kissing. Nothing graphic, but please be aware.

It all started with Scott. Well, Scott and a lacrosse game. It was an away game against Marshal, a small school who had only started the lacrosse program that year and was simply terrible. Beacon Hills was winning easily, so Couch pulled out all the starters and put in the bench. 

While Stiles had the crap beat out of him as the other team literally had him eating dirt, he was a small kid after all, Scott somehow managed to not only get the ball but score as well, all without having an asthma attack. 

It was a magical moment, full of high fives and joyous shouts, but it also led to Danny inviting Scott to Lydia’s victory party. And Stiles naturally went with him. 

Scott enjoyed his newfound fame and apparently the popularity that went with it. Stiles discovered the joy of shitty cheap beer and drunken dancing, which he was amazing at, if he did say so himself. 

He was lost in the mess of sweating, swaying bodies, Scott long gone somewhere with a pretty girl who told him stick work was great, when he felt warm hands on his hips and a body hot against his back. 

The hands were large, and the person was tall. A boy then. Stiles grinned. He was fine with that, at least while he was drunk. When he was sober, he would have in his inevitable gay crises, though even sober he had been thinking more and more lately that he might prefer dick to chicks. He let his hips grind backwards. 

It was several songs later that he finally twisted around to see Isaac Lahey grinding back against him, looking dazed and spacey. 

Stiles knew Isaac. He was a quiet kid. He sat the bench with Scott and Stiles pretty often, mostly because he always seemed too tired to play, always moving slowly and stiffly. They had chatted a couple times, mostly about stupid stuff, but he seemed like a decent guy. Stiles didn’t know he ever came to parties though, much less danced with boys. 

Stiles stopped dancing in surprise, the alcoholic in his veins no longer as welcome as he instantly became worried. “Isaac? Are you alright?”

Isaac’s eyes focused on Stiles then a lazy smile crossed his face as he leaned down.

“Hey,” He whispered right in Stiles’ ear, making him shiver despite his worry.

“What are you doing? Are you okay? Are you even gay?”

Isaac shrugged, running his thumb over Stiles' lower lip. “You’re pretty.”

Stiles wasn’t sure who moved, but in moments lips were on lips, teeth clicking together as they kissed sloppily.

Stiles was certain he was the one who pulled away before they went too far for the semi-public setting, arousal building in his stomach. Isaac didn’t taste like beer, but he still seemed a little off and Stiles was a big fan of consent. “Are you drunk?”

Isaac shook his head. “Haven’t even had a drop.”

“Good.”

He grabbed Isaac’s hand, pulling him to a dark coat closet and shutting the door. Isaac tensed instantly, so Stiles flipped on the light, even as their hands grouped over clothes, fingers ghosting sensitive nipples until Isaac whimpered. 

“Do you want this?” Stiles asked, gesturing at both their hard cocks straining in their pants. “We can go back out.”

Isaac nodded, pupils blown wide, “Just keep the light on please.”

They kissed again, a little nicer this time, and Stiles let his hands wander over the other teen’s shirt. He was taller than Stiles, so he had to tilt his head up to kiss. He liked it. A lot.

Isaac suddenly hissed, as Stiles’ fingers moved slightly down to his stomach. Stiles stopped kissing and pulled away, jerking up the other teen’s shirt. 

“Fuck.” His stomach was a canvas of black and blue bruises. Isaac pulled his shirt back down, turning away and hunching into himself. 

“It’s fine Stiles.”

“That is not fucking fine.” Those bruises weren’t from lacrosse. They wore pads to keep anything from actually doing any damage. Plus, the lines of the marks looked an awful lot like a belt. And Isaac only lived with his dad- another member of the dead mom club. 

Even buzzed, Stiles made the connection quickly. “How long has your dad been beating you?”

Isaac went deathly pale. “He doesn’t. This was the first time. He didn’t mean it.”

“Which one is it? He doesn’t or this is the first time?”

“You can’t tell.” Isaac looked borderline hysterical as he wrapped his arms around himself. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Stiles shook his head, “Nope. I’m totally telling my dad. Like right now. I’m calling him and he will pick us up and arrest your dad.”

“No. Please, you can’t. I’m sixteen. I’ll just end up in foster care. I’ve been in it before and it is the worst thing you can image. They take everything away and put you were no one wants you. I’m not going back.”

Stiles felt unsure. Foster care sucked, yeah, but surely it had to be better than being hit. “Isaac, you have to tell someone. He could really hurt you.”

Isaac grabbed Stiles' upper arms so hard he knew it would bruise. “No. No, listen. I have a plan. I’m getting emancipated. I’ve got a job and everything, and my grades are good. All I have to do is find an apartment to rent and I’ll be gone. Dad wont’ be able to hurt me, and I’ll stay out of foster care.”

“Just come live with me.” Stiles said, headless of what his dad might say. He would understand, probably. He was never home anyway. 

Isaac shook his head dejectedly. “Dad wouldn’t ever let me live at the Sheriff’s house. He’d be too afraid I would tell. He’ll drag me back home and then it’ll be even worse.” The look in Isaac’s eyes scared Stiles. “He might hurt you too. You or your dad.”

Stiles thought of all the ways an angry man could go after the Sheriff, of how he could kill the lawman with shockingly little planning. 

“Fuck.” Stiles repeated, every instinct telling him to call his dad right now. “Fine. Fine. But I need to hear from you every night until you move out or I’m swear telling.”

\-----  
The main trouble, according to Isaac who was sitting at the lunchroom table the next day and eating a pathetic looking peanut butter and jelly, was money. 

“I make about $500 a month working at the Mexican restaurant after school. I found a place out on Lincoln Street for only $450 a month so I can afford it.”

Stiles made a face as he took a bit of his own sandwich and pushed his bag of chips over for Isaac to grab. Lincoln was a rough part of town. “Yeah if you don’t need things like water or electricity. Or food.”

Isaac shrugged. “They feed me well at the restaurant and I'll qualify for free school lunches. Plus, once I move out, I can work more hours, since I won’t have to help out at the graveyard anymore.”

“Awesome. So let’s get you out.” Stiles was certain that he could ask a few favors and get Isaac in front of a judge to get emancipated in a few days. 

“Can’t yet. I need first and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit. I need about 2 grand.”

“How much do you have?”

“$400.”

“Fuck.”

\------  
Turns out, Mr. Lahey like to steal from his son, as well as hit him. He had drained Isaac’s bank account and anytime he tried to hide money in his room, it always disappeared. He had the $400 in his locker at school and was constantly worried someone would find out and take it. 

They ended up sticking the money in a loose floorboard in Stiles’ room. It was the safest place they could think of. Stiles was just grateful Isaac trusted him enough to leave his cash with him.

After that, it was just a waiting game.

Stiles did his best to help earn a little money, wanting to help Isaac out. But he hadn’t turned sixteen yet, so he couldn’t officially work. He generally made his spending money by doing odd jobs for some of the officer’s, mowing the lawn, painting room, hell, he even babysat the twins for Officer Hernandez on summer breaks, but all of that was sporadic, at best.

He didn’t have much saved up to give to Isaac and no one needed him to do any odd jobs. He sold some of his comic books, a few old DVD’s and video games, but only made a couple hundred bucks. Isaac didn’t want to take it, but Stiles wouldn’t take no for an answer, shoving the cash into the loose floorboard with all the rest. He was only frustrated he couldn’t get more. He wanted Isaac out of his house now, but they simply didn’t have enough. Isaac would have to rely on his job, until he managed to save enough.

\-----  
Time went on. Isaac and Stiles hung out when they could, which wasn’t that much, considering how much Isaac worked and their drastically different school schedules. They were pretty much limited to lunch or at lacrosse practice, though Stiles tried to get him to come over anytime he had a free evening, so he could feed him and let the poor kid relax in a safe space.

It sucked. Stiles alternated between worrying about Isaac and feeling sorry for himself because Isaac was always busy, then feeling guilty for feeling lonely while Isaac was being abused.

But he missed having people to talk to. His dad was busy at work and Scott still had his head up the popular kid’s asses, leading to a lot of quiet, free time for Stiles.

It was kind of pathetic of Scott really. Even his dad, as busy as he currently was with all the drug busts and the violence on the streets the way it had never been in Beacon Hills before, had noticed that Stiles was alone a lot. He asked if everything was okay at school, or if he needed to talk about anything, giving Stiles that patented “Sheriff” look that suggested he already knew part of what he was asking.

Stiles nearly told him everything. The way he was questioning he sexuality, the way Scott had abandoned him, everything about Isaac, from start to finish. 

But he didn’t. He shook his head, then went his room to play video games alone.

It took a month for Scott to corner him after lacrosse practice. Isaac happened to not be a school that particular day; he was home sick. Only the constant texts assuring Stiles that he was fine, that he really did have the flu, were keeping Stiles at school and not running over to his house to drag him out.

Stiles showered and gathering his things without paying any attention, his mind on Isaac and wondering if he could get away with taking him some soup. He didn’t even notice the longing looks Scott was giving him, or how he kept trying to say something but never managed to get it out.

“So what’s going on with you and Lahey?” Scott yelled out finally as Stiles was leaving. He grabbed his gear and jogged the few steps to catch up with Stiles. 

Stiles frowned and not just because Scott was finally talking him. He frowned because he had been asking himself the same thing. 

He wanted Isaac to be safe, that was for sure. But Stiles knew that if he really wanted to help, he should tell his dad the truth, and consequences be damned. It was the right thing to do. 

But he was scared. He was scared of what Isaac’s dad might do to Isaac if DCFS didn’t remove him. Scared of what would happen if Mr. Lahey knew Stiles was helping his son. Scared of what Mr. Lahey might do to his dad if he found out who made the call. He now had firsthand knowledge of just how fucked up the man was. 

Mrs. Lahey didn’t die on her own, after all. It was a bad fall, down the basement stairs. Twice in a row. No charges were pressed, but Isaac knew the truth. He didn’t go into details, but the haunted look in his eyes said enough. 

And deep down, Stiles wondered if it could have been him. If his dad hadn’t had been such a public figure, if he wasn’t quite as good at holding his liquor. Stiles could be the one hiding broken bones and bruises and white knuckling it to eighteen.

He didn’t say any of that. “Oh I’m sorry were you talking to me? Is Jackson not available? Maybe Danny?”

Scott made a face like a hurt puppy. “I deserved that. I’m sorry. It was just nice to have their attention. But it turns out, they are…”

“Kinda fucking awful.”

“Danny’s not bad. But Jackson is the literal worst!”

Stiles cracked a small grin. “I’ve been telling you that since the third grade.”

“I wanted to be done with them after the party, but I went to find you and you were gone, then after that, you were always with Isaac.”

If it were anyone else, it would seem like a stupid excuse. But it was Scott. He was oblivious but he wasn’t mean, at least not on purpose. Stiles swung an arm over Scott’s shoulders, already forgiving him. “I’m not replacing you. He just seemed lonely, plus he is a cool guy.”

“Are you dating him?”

Stiles stopped short. “No.”

“Because you don’t like him, or because you’re not gay?”

Stiles thought of the strong hands on his, the way Isaac had rubbed against his leg in the closet, hard and moaning.

After the party, he hadn’t worried about the whole gay thing, too busy planning and worrying about Isaac. Even now, he found the idea of liking guys didn’t bother him in the least.

But what bothered him was the scared look in Isaac’s eyes, the beaten down way he walked, and the way he had never brought up that night again.

“I don’t care, you know that.” Scott was stammering, trying to fill the silence, thinking he had messed up again. “I just wondered. He looks at you when you’re not looking you know.”

Even though Stiles was gay, Isaac wasn’t. And the last thing Isaac needed to worry about now was Stiles crushing on him. He deserved better than that. 

“No. I mean, yes, I’m gay. But we’re not dating. I’m just. We’re just friends.”

That was all they would ever be. 

\------  
Stiles did check with Isaac, though, just to be sure. He was hanging out at one of the empty tables at the restaurant, doing Isaac’s homework since he never had time. He did it with his left hand, so that the handwriting wouldn’t match his own. It was a Tuesday and slow, so Isaac’s boss didn’t mind if Stiles was there, as long as the work got done. 

Scott, although much more present for Stiles after their little talk, was at some sort of special lacrosse practice with an actual lacrosse coach from the local college. He and Isaac hadn’t been invited. His dad was at work and wouldn’t miss him for several hours yet. 

“Hey Isaac?” Stiles asked, running a hand over his face and thinking of all the hours his dad had been working, and now much stress he was under. Maybe he would order him some chicken taco’s and bring them by the station. Chicken tacos were healthy enough, as long as he skipped the rice and beans.

“Yea?” Isaac looked up from rolling silverware in napkins across from Stiles, his only two tables happily eating their food and needing nothing. 

“That night at the party, you didn’t mean it. Did you?”

Isaac’s face twisted. “Not really. My dad had just been really bad and I wanted to go out and make a bad decision, get out of my own head for a bit.”

“I figured.”

“Sorry.” Isaac looked truly apologetic. 

Stiles shrugged. "It's fine." 

It didn’t hurt his feeling. Well, maybe a little. But he was a big boy, and he had gotten a new friend out of it, so he couldn’t be too upset. 

“You are very pretty though. And a good kisser.” Isaac grinned wickedly. “Ten out of ten would kiss again.”

“Shut up,” Stiles rolled his eyes. “And go and order me some tacos.”

\-----  
Everything could have gone well. At the rate they were going, they could have had Isaac out of his house in two months. They had all the forms done, all that was left to see a judge. They even had paperwork started to change Isaac’s name, so he would be even harder for his father to find, should he look. 

Isaac flip flopped back and for on whether his dad would. Part of him said he would, if only to get his punching bag back. The other part said he would let his son go, his pride not allowing others to see him miss the child that abandoned him. Stiles privately though that they couldn’t be too careful, so they made their plans, saved up, and waited. 

Neither boy had that kind of luck. 

It went downhill amazingly fast. It started with Mr. Lahey refusing to allow Isaac to have a job. He showed up at the restaurant out of the blue. He literally forced him out of the restaurant mid-shift, yelling about how no son of his was going to work anywhere but the family business. 

Stiles and Isaac only had a few days to worry about that before Mr. Lahey caught them too. They weren’t even doing anything bad, hanging out after practice. They were just talking. Maybe they were standing a little close together because Stiles had no boundaries and Isaac liked to feel wanted, but it wasn’t like they were kissing or even holding hands. 

It didn’t stop the man from calling them a couple of faggots and telling his own son that he was a disgusting waste of space.

He forbid Stiles from seeing his Isaac. The look in his eyes was so terrifying that it had Stiles anonymously calling in a 911 call from a payphone for a welfare visit. He listened to his police scanner, hoping to hear that Isaac was alright and removed from the house. But nothing came of the call, except that he didn’t come to school for two days. 

And when did Isaac come back, he ignored Stiles completely when he ran up to him in the hall, running an eye over him to look for obvious injuries, and thankfully finding none. 

Stiles followed him all day, asking questions and trying to get him to talk to the Sheriff. He was worried, now, really worried, the silent treatment he was getting making it worse.

“Just fucking leave me alone!” Isaac finally exploded as Stiles followed him out to the lacrosse pitch asking non-stop questions. Stiles stopped mid-sentence and mid step, startled by the unusual burst of anger from the normally placid boy. 

“You’re aren’t funny, and you aren’t smart. I didn’t really every want to hang out with anyway. You were just convenient, someone who would help me do the paperwork I needed and not complain.”

Stiles flinched back. Isaac didn't yell, and he never yelled at Stiles. Never.

“Just get out of my life.” Isaac looked years older for a moment. “Please, Stiles. Get out of my life.” 

To Stiles shame, he did.

He pouted for a whole week. He listened to Scott tell him it was no big deal and try to distract him with video games. He listened to Danny and even Jackson agree, if only to get him to shut up at the practice. A practice that Isaac had skipped which had become his habit lately. Even Cora, his lab partner, told him to stop worrying about it and to off get his ass and do his part before Harris failed them both. 

In the end, he chose to ignore them all, certain that Isaac didn’t really meant it. He would get to the bottom of it, calling his dad if need be. He was determined to save his friend, no matter the cost. 

He really shouldn’t have. 

\-----  
It only took three weeks of constant stalking for Stiles to figure out Isaac was dealing drugs, a completely new and upsetting development. Isaac wasn’t even particularly cautious about it, keeping the stuff in his locker where anyone who know the combination like Stiles did could find it. 

Stiles took the baggies and waited until after lacrosse so he could ambush him. Isaac had actually show up for the first time this week and it was the one place Stiles could be sure Isaac wouldn’t be able to avoid him.

They were the only ones still there. Mr. Lahey late to pick his son up as he always was and Stiles had brushed off Scott’s offer for a ride in favor of his bike. 

“What the actual fuck, Lahey.” Stiles said, after Scott had finally left the locker room.

“What.” Isaac’s tone was flat. 

Stiles threw the bags at him, anger mounting at the stupidity of his friend. “That’s a fucking felony right there.”

Isaac’s jaw went hard as he stooped to pick them up. 

“Is this your big plan then? Sell drugs to move out of your dads? Even if you get the money, no judge is going to grant you emancipation without a steady income. Not to mention all the awful things that come with drugs. My dad hasn’t been home in days because of that shit. I recognize the bags designs from his case files. Those dealers are the worst of the worst. They gut people, and literally claw their eyes out. Is that how you want to die? So mangled they have to use your teeth to ID your corpse?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Like hell you do. I’m telling my dad everything, so get rid of your stuff so he can’t charge you.”

Isaac had him shoved up against the wall in an instant. “Don’t you dare.”

“This is too much for us. We need an actual adult.”

“It’s way too late for that, Stiles. I’m already in too deep.” 

Stiles shuttered at the real fear in his voice, slapping at the hands that held him. “What are you talking about?”

Isaac let him go, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, hands in his head. “I already know too much. And trust me, I know how dangerous these people are.”

Stiles dropped to his knees as well, hands on Isaac’s arms. “All the more reason to tell my dad.”

“You don’t get it. Being Sheriff isn’t going to be enough to save him. If you thought my dad was bad.” He shook his head. “If he gets too close, they will kill him and me. Maybe even you. Slowly and painfully.”

“Just tell me who they are.” Stiles begged, but Isaac just shook his head. If he knew who the dealers were, his dad could arrest them and solve all their problems.

“I can’t.”

\-----  
Stiles found out anyway, though it wasn’t easy. For a loudmouth spaz, he was pretty good at sneaking around. He noised in his dad’s files and figured out which areas of town were being hit the hardest, even got some names of the people who the cops thought might be behind the recent influx of drugs. He followed known snitches, and made inquires in scary dark allies. He even borrowed a police camera, one with a long lens so he could get proof without getting too close, once he finally found the right people.

It had been hard getting it out of the stations without being seen, but all the officers were pretty distracted with the massive amount of crimes that seemed to be happening all the time and they were used to him being underfoot. The only person who might have noticed was Mr. Hale who was there to pick up his husband, an arms dealer who occasionally helped out identifying certain rare bullets types.

Stiles panicked for a long moment, eyes locked with the older man. Mr. Hale was a lawyer of some sort, and what he was doing was certainly illegal. But Mr. Hale didn’t’ seem inclined to tattled, rolling his eyes then brushing by Stiles where he was frozen in the door equipment room, certain he was caught. He left with Mr. Argent without a backward glance.

Stealing the camera didn’t do any good, at least not at first. He never got a scrap of proof. He made diagrams, plotted escape routes, even skipped school a few times, but never got found anything, even when he pressed Isaac for information. He refused to talk no matter how Stiles alternated between begging and threatening.

He understood now, why his dad felt like he was chasing ghosts, why each day he came home he looked a little paler and worn down. 

In the end, it was just luck. He got to school early one day and saw Matt Daehler handing Isaac a suspicious looking bag. And Matt didn’t have the good sense not to think he might be followed, didn’t know, like Isaac did, that Stiles might be watching. He didn’t even try to hide his route back to the old distillery. 

Stiles hid in the tree line, but he still saw plenty. He saw the piles of pills and powders, saw a young man with dark glasses and a hat putting it in the bags and hand it to Matt. He got pictures of it all. 

It should have been enough. Enough for his dad to storm the place and make some arrests at least, and enough to force Isaac away from drugs. But he had to make sure. He couldn’t risk it not being enough.

He got obsessed. He didn’t know if it was curiosity or anger over poor Isaac, but he started coming to the distillery daily just to catch a glimpse of the operation and its head man. He followed the man around town, until caught his name. Aiden. 

Stiles organized the evidence, stored it on his phone and on his computer, two copies so he could never lose one. 

Once he had the name, he knew it was time to come clean. He had it all planned out. He was going to take his computer to the Sheriff’s department after school and tell his dad everything. He even had a PowerPoint, in addition to the regular files of pictures. 

He had a plan. 

\------  
The plan went to shit, all because Stiles had no impulse control unless Scott was with him and he had been very careful to keep him out of all of this. 

When he saw the Aiden walking dangerously close to the school from the library window, he cut third period study hall to follow him, getting closer than usual, as he didn’t have his camera. 

But he did have his phone. Which he got out and turned to video mode, ducking between the parked vehicles and crouching down so he couldn’t be seen. 

Matt was there, hands in his pockets and eyes darting around worriedly. Aiden stalked towards him, not caring at all that he was in a high school parking lot about to do a drug deal. 

“Hey man.” Matt said, when they finally got close enough to talk. 

Aiden just stood there with his arms crossed, but still looked dangerous as hell. “Heard we have a little problem. Cops are getting close. I’ve caught the scent of one of them hanging around awfully close to the distillery.”

“Listen it’s not my fault. I told them to be more careful but the new guy-”

Without a word, Aiden picked Matt up by the shoulders, and threw him a good ten feet, eyes flashing red, as his face transformed, sprouting hair where there shouldn’t be and sharp teeth appearing momentarily before going back to his normal features. 

“What the fuck.” Stiles was way too loud and dropped completely behind the car, hoping he wasn’t seen. His heart pounding in a way that could not be healthy at all as he freaked out. “Fuck. What. The. Fuck.”

“I don’t care what you have to do.” Aiden kicked Matt’s back, pulling a groan out of the boy. “End the leak or we will end you.”

Aiden took off running as the bell ran, going far faster than any human could. 

\-----  
Stiles spend the rest of the day watching the video over and over, trying to convince himself he wasn’t going crazy. But it was there on the video. Whatever Aiden was it wasn’t human. 

Stiles tried to tell himself it meant nothing, that he should still go see his dad as planned, but he still found himself on the school bus home, instead of taking the one that took him to the Sheriff’s department.

He spent the next several hours on the web, trying to figure out what exactly Aiden was. But the all the info out there was fanfict or porn, neither particularly useful for research. He ended up in a wiki spiral, getting nowhere and wasting precious time.

He was about to say fuck it and bike to the station to see his dad regardless of how late it was, when the landline rang. 

His dad had insisted on keeping it in case of a power outage. Plus, only landlines could be instantly traced by 911 and the Sheriff believed in that kind of security for his son who was often left alone.

No one but his dad every called it though, when he was checking to make sure Stiles was really home and not at Scott’s and lying. No one else had the number. He picked up it with a bright hello, only to be greeted with heavy breathing. 

“Isaac?” He asked anxiously, hoping it was just a sick trick, and not his friend. 

“Stiles.” Isaac sounded like he had screamed for hours, voice shredded to almost nothing. “Please. I need help.”

“Oh my God, was it your dad? Never mind where are you?”

“The gas station. The one by my house.” There was a dry sob. “I’m so sorry Stiles. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I’ll be right there. I promise, just hold on.”

He grabbed his phone, then after a moment of hesitation, his backpack with his laptop in it. He decided that as soon as he picked up Isaac, he was going straight to the Sheriff’s station. It was time for the truth, no matter the consequences. 

He took the jeep because it was faster, hoping that it would be dark enough that any of the deputies that knew the vehicle wouldn’t catch its distinct color and pull him over. He wasn’t technically supposed to drive it yet, though his dad had taught him how to years ago, in case of an emergency. 

Well, this was an emergency. 

He pulled into the empty station and got out. He went to the back, where Isaac usually hid on nights his dad was bad, hoping his friend was okay. 

“I didn’t think you were stupid enough to come.” Matt said appearing out of the shadows like a deranged vampire. 

“Matt.” He should have known. Of course it was a trap. And he had walked right into it.

“Stiles. I think you want to come with me.”

“Where’s Isaac?” He demanded, trying to stand his ground even though he wanted to run.

“Come with me. Now.”

A glint of a gun had Stiles following Matt back to the jeep, keeping his head down at the Matt's insistence. The other boy then drove the jeep, telling Stiles to duck down so he couldn’t be seen. He drove around town for a bit, taking back roads that Stiles happened to know had no security cameras on them, apparently having learned to be a lot more cautious after he was thrown across a parking lot. 

They ended up all at the distillery, only now it was clean of any sign of illicit materials. It was a disappointment that it had been moved, but Stiles was sure that once he showed his dad Aiden’s face, they could track the drugs anywhere. 

Matt roughly pulled him out of the jeep and forced him inside, grabbing his backpack and pulling out his laptop and throwing in on the floor. He did the same with Stiles, though he managed to keep his feet, ending up face to face with Aiden who looked every bit as threatening up close as he did in Stiles’ camera lens. 

“Stiles right?” He said, with a predatory smile.

“Where’s Isaac?”

“Safe. And as long as you cooperate, he’ll stay that way.”

“What do you want?” Stiles asked, terrified in every way. His dad couldn’t find his body out here managed like one of the drug victims. It will kill him.

“How did you find us?”

Stiles hesitated, trying fruitlessly to think of a lie.

“Tell me!” His eyes flashed a bright red, but it was gone so fast Stiles could have imagined it. 

“Matt. I followed Matt, okay, cause I saw him dealing at school.”

Matt made a sound but was cut off by Aiden. “I will deal with you later. Leave. Now.”

He stalked out leaving Stiles alone with Aiden. Stiles fought down the blind panic that threatened to bring him to his knees. He knew that if he panicked, he would die. If he stayed calm and though on his feet, he had a chance. 

“You saw Matt dealing to Isaac, and you know Isaac well enough to know he doesn’t do drugs. So he had to be selling them.”

Stiles’ heart jumped at the mention of Isaac and Aiden smiled again, “Oh I know all about Isaac. He didn’t want to tell us who might be following us, which little teen had the camera that I heard clicking away. He tried very hard to keep you safe.”

That wasn’t possible. Stiles had been carefully to stay far enough away that he couldn’t be heard. There was no way he heard the camera.

Aiden continued, looking positively murderous. “But apply enough pressure and anyone will break.”

“If you hurt him…”

“You’ll what? You’re a pathetic little human. You’re nothing. And you have nothing.”

“I have this,” Stiles held up his phone, finger on the email that would send it all to his dad. “And there is enough saved on it to put you away for life.”

“Clever thing aren’t you. But, you’re not the only one who can take pictures.”

Aiden threw a file on the table, pictures falling out of it. Stiles looked down. There were some of Scott, Mrs. McCall, even Isaac. But most of them were of his dad. His dad in his cruiser, his dad at the store. Even some in his office, so close that whoever took it must have been inside the department. 

Fuck. Someone in the department was in on it. Fuck. He was so screwed. 

“So send the message to your dad. We’ll deal with him. We’ll make it look like an accident even. A drunken little accident. He won’t even die with honor.”

Stiles breath was stuttering, his mind working furiously trying to find a way out. “He’s not the only one I’m sending it too.”

Aiden frowned, for the first time looking unsure. “Who else?”

Stiles mind raced, trying to think of someone powers. Someone untouchable and fierce. “Peter Hale. My lawyer.”

“Liar.” Aiden moved in closer, his teeth looking dangerously sharp.

“Maybe not.” Another voice came from behind them, and Stiles whipped around with a scream. Another man looking just like the first came out of the shadows. 

“There’s two of you? What are you? Twins or something?”

He was ignored as the twins began to talk over him. “His little heart is beating too hard to tell for sure. And he does smell like a Hale.”

Cora. His lab partner. She had borrowed his hoodie during class today. Some of her perfume must be on it. But how could they smell it? What the fuck were they?

The new twin looked at Stiles like he was a starving man and he was a steak. It was frightening in a whole new way. 

“And he does smell wonderful. Practically edible.”

“It changes nothing Ethan. We kill the boy, take down the Sheriff, and get back to work.”

Ethan shook his head. “If he is important to the Hales they will search the world to avenge him. It will be messy. Duke won’t like it. We should just leave.”

“No” Aiden snarled. “It’s too dangerous to leave them both alive. The cops are too close and he knows too much.”

Ethan pressed himself against Stiles back, running his hand over his hips suggestively. Stiles shuttered but held himself still, too afraid to pull away.

“We give them a distraction. A missing boy should do just right,”

Stiles wanted to scream and never stop. “You can’t kill me. My dad will get justice for me. He’ll see you in jail.”

“Oh princess I know. That’s why we’re going to take you. Take you and leave him with the hope you’re still alive. It will destroy him in a way you’re death never could. He’ll be so busy looking for you, he won’t ever look for us. Same with the Hales. It’s the perfect plan.”

The thought of his dad broken and looking for him horrified Stiles, but he liked the idea a lot better than dying. Besides he could always get away, run back home. He knew he could get away. 

Ethan looked up at his brother, the strange look of hunger still in his eyes. “Trust me. It’s a good idea.”

There was a long silence in which all Stiles could hear was his own racing heart in his ears.

Aiden’s finally broke it, eyes blazing. “What’s to stop him from trying to get away or calling for help. I still say we just kill the Sheriff and be done with it.”

“No.” Ethan was positively nuzzling him now. “No I want the boy. He smells like he’s mine. Besides he won’t run.”

“Why not?”

Ethan’s eyes bled red. “Because he knows if he does, we won’t look for him. We will just come back here and slit his dad’s throat.”

Aiden finally nodded, conceding to his brother. “Fine. You wipe the files from your phone and computer. Matt will drive the jeep back and put the phone and laptop back. Then we’ll move on. And as long as you keep your end, we won’t ever come back.”

“What are you guys?” Stiles finally got out, as his fingers moved to obey, completely cleaning out all the files he had on the drug empire. “What the fuck are you?”

He looked up to find Ethan’s face looking back at him, only it wasn’t a face at all. It was a monster, thought and through. Stiles screamed, and tried to run, but the monster was there in an instant, grabbing him with had to be claws, cutting into his arms as he pulled him.

“Oh princess. You are in so deep.” 

Ethan’s lips sealed over his, fangs that shouldn’t be there scratching his lips. Stiles let the tears fall but stood without fighting. He had to obey. He loved his dad too much to do anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> After Dark Paradise, I promised myself not to post anymore works in progress or fics over five chapters. This is both. I love the plot, but man it is going to be long and the updates could be slow. But, I hope you enjoyed it! This first chapter is a sort of gauge to see how much interest is out there and will influence the length. So, if you like it, leave me a comment or kudos. Thanks for reading.


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